15 Seconds
by Jayfeattheris Awesome
Summary: A series of one-shots telling the tale of Silverhawk and Martin; how they met, how they lived, and how the greatest friendship ever forged came down to a sacrifice and the promise of a little boy. "How do you cure death itself?" Meanwhile, a web of secrets is unweaving, and it's an old menace who's pulling at the threads...*Prequel to Fever, follows and continues past Wolfsbane*
1. Part 1: How They Came To Be

**Warning: Feels.**

 **Warning: If you have not read _Fever_ yet...this is a prequel/eventual sequel to that, so there will be MAJOR spoilers if you read this first. Basically; go read _Fever_ first if you don't want major spoilers about Silverhawk, and basically everything else.**

 **Quote of the Day: "Well, you didn't kill him hard enough."-Agent May**

* * *

The Ghost glided through the forest, occasionally scanning the ground or a nearby tree with melancholy carelessness. _Brought back to the City again; and I actually_ needed _rescuing this time._ About a day ago, a team of Guardian had burst in to save him from the destructive grasp of a Fallen Captain. It wasn't the first time Guardians had interfered with his search for a Guardian; he had been "rescued" multiple times before, many of them, in his opinion, he could have been alright on his own.

Now, he was a few miles outside the city, having picked a direction at random...about five times before he landed on a way he hadn't gone yet. Now, he floated gracefully through the wilderness, just behind a ridge he had gone over. He floated into a ravine, which looked like it had been a stream or a river at some point, when his sensors alerted him to it. He looked to the north.

 _Power? Electrical systems? An old station of some sort, perhaps?_ He followed the old riverbed. He couldn't sense any above-ground electrical activity; the echoes of power were coming form somewhere beneath, to the north. _There could be an old sewage outlet along here somewhere..._ His shell twisted, and he let out a bleep of displeasure. Any remaining waste would likely be hundreds of years old, but it still didn't make the idea sound pleasing.

He began to scan the riverbed as he went, looking for any tunnels or pipes that he could use. _Nothing...nothing...nothing...WAIT!_ He froze in mid-air, and then back-tracked a little. His shell spun, and he let out a whir, excited. _Could it...could it really be?_

He scanned again. Ghosts only had enough power in them for one or two revivals. After that, they were stuck looking for Guardians among the living. Some gave up looking among the dead, and got assigned to the child of a Guardian. Some lost their Guardians, and were assigned to Guardians who lost their Ghosts.

He had never had a Guardian. He had refused to get one the easy way; assignment, re-assignment.

And at last, his search ad come to an end.

"I found you!" he yelled excitedly, not caring that he might attract predators, animal or Fallen. He flew around, doing loops and aerial ricks int he air, shell spinning and twisting, bleeping and whirring excitedly. He came to a halt with one final spin over the spot he had found the remains, buried by silt and dirt somewhere beneath the ground, the bones nothing more than dust, that he could sense.

But it was enough.

"I can't tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!" he chirped. He gave a start. "Actually, I CAN tell you! Just wait a quick moment!"

Parting his shell, he formed a small shield around his center automatically, to protect himself from weaker attacks. Concentrating, pulling nearby materials into a pocket-matter dimension, he pictured light armor, fitted for his Guardian, whomever she-or he-may be, and then he focused with all his might on the little flicker of light down below him.

The flicker grew larger. The dirt and silt and forest debris shifted. He could sense the dust. Slowly, eerily yet beautifully, bone dust began to rise out of the ground, particle by particle, forming along the ground a rough shape. He let out a pulse of energy. _There's so much missing! But I CAN do this! I have to!_ He was starting to feel tired.

His and the light of the flicker seemed to touch one another, and he used it as a channel. He let out another pulse of energy, honing in on his Guardian's natural frequency and DNA patterns. The patterns confused him, and he almost lost the process entirely, but he held fast. He pumped the dead being with light and energy, willing them to grow.

And they did. The bone dust grew bigger, turning into bone fragments, which turned into bones. That's when he first noticed; that's when the feeling of dread sunk it's claws into him. His Guardian was so small...

Then tendons began to appear. Muscles and organs followed, and a strange energy invaded the body. He tried to filter it out, but when he did, the half-formed body almost collapsed. Whoever they were, they were stuck with this strange energy...which, he suddenly noticed, matched the signature he had been following. Could his Guardian have been the source? Surely not?

She _, could_ she _have been the source?_ he corrected himself with pleasure as his Guardian's gender made itself known. The armor in the pocket dimension began to form almost immediately, and as skin wrapped itself around his new companion, he pulled the dimension apart, and the armor lapsed into the position it had in this dimension; directly on the girl's body, dressing her. _I hope she's just underweight...not...not...that would be terrible if she was..._

He heard as her heart began to beat again, and her lungs began to breath once more. She took in a gasping, heaving breath, and he ended the process, bonding himself to her. He felt _exhausted_. Pulling his shell back to his "body", his small shield fading, he approached his new Guardian, more excited than ever, eager to learn her name. Still gasping, she pushed herself to a sitting position as he hovered in front of her. She seemed shocked to see him, though he couldn't see behind the makeshift helmet he had made her.

"Hello!" he greeted cheerily."I'm sure you're more than a little confused. I'm a Ghost, that's what we're called. But now, I'm _your_ Ghost; I'll be keeping you company from here on out. I'm really nice, I promise; won't bite, or anything. Not that I could bite if I wanted to. I'm good at lots of things, but I'm really more a of a lover...than a fighter...hey, hey, are you okay?"

His Guardian had started crying. He hovered closer, concerned. Emotional breakdowns after revival were to be expected; after all, dying as quite a traumatic experience, and being brought back even more so. Some revived Guardians would write laments to what they had been snatched from by the call of the Ghosts, mourn being torn back down to Earth. It brought a lot of ethical issues to the table whenever a revived Guardian went crazy because of the loss. Some couldn't remember where they had been, but those that could walked around with a constant look of loss glazed behind their eyes.

Then he noticed the tone, the pitch of her silent sobs, and his worst fears were confirmed, hitting him like the blast of a Scorch Cannon. _She's a child! My Guardian is a child!_ If he had a head, it would be reeling, from shock or pity or both.

"Hey, hey; it's okay." He comforted, hovering in closer to her. "You're alright now; you're safe. Nothing can hurt you anymore."

"He-he put a sharp thing in my tummy," she sobbed, crying now uncontrollable, "and th-then he-t-tore out, he t-tore my t-tummy out!"

 _She was MURDERED!?_ It was ad enough to revive a child, but a murder victim? _I need to get her back to the City! She's going to need help..._

"Well, he's gone now. He's dead, like you were; but now you're alive again, and he's still dead. He can never hurt you again. No-one can, or will." he told her, sidling up next to her head, trying to comfort her. "I promise, where we're going, you'll be as safe as safe can be, and I'll be with you every step of the way. Trust me; I promise."

Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around the Ghost, squeezing him close to her, still sobbing. He let out a sigh, resigned to his fate. _So what is she's a child!_ he thought. _My job is to help her, to be there for her! And by my shell, if that means I have to become a security blanket, then so be it!_

* * *

 **Whoo, whoo! The feels train has left the station! All passenger, please keep you arms and legs inside the ride at all times. Please wear safety belts, tissues will be handed out accordingly. Please dispose of all booger-rags in the appropriate manner-by burning them with fire. Thank you, and have a pleasant day.**

 **originally, I was going to post this AFTER Fever was finished. Buuuut...I really just wanted to see MaybeALittleBroken's reaction to this, I just couldn't wait. XD**

 **...I am a cruel unusual person, aren't I?**

 **That being said...react! Everyone react! React your little hearts out! Sympathy for Silverhawk? Eagerness to see how she and Martin met? Still aching to see how Cayde-6 plays into all of this(remember, from Fever chapter eight? I think I mentioned his knowledge of 'Hawky's secret somewhere in there...)?**

 **Well, Grumpy Cat says, you'll have to wait for the rest of eternity to find that out. But hey; who better to use as Grumpy Cat repellant than Uldren? Fight fire with fire, as they say, eh?**

 **U-I _swear_ ; Silverhawk put you up to this, didn't she?**

 **Actually...it was Petra*makes troll face*. I'm sure you can talk to her about it later, if-**

 **U-PEEEETRAAAAA!**

 **Agent May-"Well, you didn't kill him hard en-what's that sound?"**

 **Ummmm...I'm just, uh...going to repair the slight rip in the fabric of reality I just created...Cheers!^^'**

 **But yeah, this is just to stave off the strange need to update now that the last chapter's author's not has been finished; I promised myself I would wait until the end of the week to post, but I'm just having such a hard time...So, we have THIS!**

 **BACKSTORY! SILVERHAWK! MARTIN! CAYDE! FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS!**

 **Yeah, this is going to be a LOT more emotional that _Fever_ , or even _Heartbusters_ , when it comes out. I plan n doing a short piece for each year leading up to the events of Fever, and after that...well, you'll have to wait until _H_ _eartbuster_ s is over for me to post the little Martin-centric mini-adventure that this fic takes its name from. Let's just say, after this fic, 15 is going to become a very ominous, stressful number for Silverhawk.**

 **If you knew someone with a situation just like Silverhawk's, what would your ethical, political, etc. take be? What do you think the world today would condemn her to doing? Would she be punished, pitied, or used?**

 **Next time: We meet Martin for the first time, Cayde-6 makes an appearance, and we learn how our favorite exo knows Silverhawk's secret...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	2. Take My Hand

**Quote of the Day: "The world is full of death, and lies, and secrets. You can't hide from them; you can only face them. The question is, what do you do? What do you become?"- Phil Coulson, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.**

* * *

The girl had been at the Tower for a month. She hadn't spoken to anyone, except maybe to her Ghost on occasion. She always wore the "armor" she had been brought back in. If asked to take it off, she would go into a state of panic, saying it was "too dangerous". She ate in her room, with the door locked, she used the bathroom the same way, as well, locking the door so no-one could take her armor away while she wasn't with it.

Well, Alisha was going to put an end to that tonight. She was going to make the girl take the armor off, and show her that there was nothing to be afraid of; she was perfectly safe in the Tower. Alisha had been assigned as the girl's councilor, and a foster mother of sorts. _All this hiding from the world beneath her armor; it isn't healthy!_

The girl came out into the living space.

"Hey, Kelly." she greeted in a questioning tone, using the name the girl had been given. The girls froze, looking up at her through her helmet. She approached the girl, bending down to get eye-level with her. The storm raged outside, rain lashing at the windows and walls of the Tower, lightning flickering and flashing, thunder roaring and crashing.

"That's not my name." the girl responded as always. Alisha placed her hands gently on the girl's shoulders. She stiffened. Her Ghost hovered beside her head nervously.

"I want to show you something. I'm going to show you, that you don't need to hide anymore." she told her softly. In one, quick movement, she gripped the helmet between her hand, twisted, and pulled it off with a hiss. The girl let out a panicked yell.

"No! Don't!" she cried. Her face was almost heart-shaped in appearance, and she had burning, sky-blue eyes, glowing like an awoken's. Her hair was cut sloppily, as if she had done the deed herself, down to shoulder-length, and it was shockingly stark-white.

So shocked was she at the girl's initial appearance, the child almost managed to grab hold of the helmet. She pulled it out of arm's reach.

"No, no! It's too dangerous!" she sobbed. "I'm-It's-I'm too dangerous! I-I need it! PLEASE!"

"No, listen to me, listen to me, now. You do-" she was cut off by death. She had been planning to tell the girl, to tell her that she didn't need to hide from the world beneath a suit of armor. She had misheard the girl's last statement, thought she was confused; couldn't make out what she was saying, so much was she panicking. And then, she had taken the girl's cheek in one hand, intending to comfort her.

But instead, it brought Alisha death.

The girl screamed, collapsing to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably as the body fell, limp, to the ground. Her Ghost's shell spun and twisted, the little robot distressed and confused.

"I'm a monster! I'm a monster, I'm a monster, I'm a monster...I'm a monster, I'm a monster, I'm a monster...why did they have to make me a monster?" she sobbed, face buried in her gloved hands. Her Ghost glided down next to her head.

"This is what they did to you!? They made it so you could do...this!? How!? Why!?" he exclaimed.

"Because I was perfect." she whispered, clutching her hands close to her chest, imagining she was holding the little wooden hawk carving that Nathan had made her once. It had been a gift, for her sixth birthday. She had taken an interest in birds, and he had whittled a little wooden hawk for her as a present. She remembered trying to make "Hawky shiny-er!", trying to paint the carving silver, ruining it artistically with her young sense of coordination, but making it perfect in her and Nathan's eyes.

She missed Nate _so much_! She missed her mom and dad, too! She could remember her big brother, black-skinned and the bestest person in the whole world, adopted but as much their parent's son as she was their daughter. The way he'd burst into her room on weekends, scoop her up on his shoulders, and zoom around the house and out into the world like a Jumpship, how he'd greet her after school every day with that little nickname of his, "Hey, Flower!"

How mom would read her " _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ " every night before bed, no matter how dad insisted on a new story. How dad would teach her and Nate how to fish by the river every weekend.

How the bad men burst into their home on the night of her seventh birthday, and made her dad stop moving by making a strange stick go _bang_ near his head. How Nathan, then sixteen, had carried her seven-year-old self into her room with mother, and locked the door. How he had backed her against the corner, shielding her from the blast that broke the door down.

How the bad men cut mom's throat open with a sharp thing after Nate refused to move.

How the bad men used the banging stick on Nate.

How the bad men took her away, kicking and screaming, as her family lay dead on the floor.

How the bad men had taken her to more bad men, who had, in turn, turned her into a bad girl. They'd made her go in the pain rooms, made her touch animals and plants and kill them for no reason. If she didn't comply, they would beat her. If she cried while killing a cute little, innocent bunny rabbit, they would beat her. If she did anything at all normal, like laugh or cry or even sneeze, they would beat her.

Like the monster she was.

She let out another sob. She didn't put her helmet back on. She was a monster, like the darkness they always spoke of.

And monsters had to be killed. She staggered to her feet, and ran out the door.

* * *

Martin Anton was an orphan. Now, he was very well taken care of, mind you. But for him, the Battle of Twilight Gap was still too recent; barley a year ago, he'd had a loving mother, an awesome father, and a whole, bright future laid out ahead of him. His mother had been a Warlock, his father, a Hunter. For his twelve birthday, they had taken him to choose a Ghost.

Two weeks later, they were both dead, and so were countless others. Now, he lived in a foster center, a.k.a., "Orphanage", waiting to be assigned a caretaker, or otherwise get adopted. He had chosen his Ghost because he could relate to it; sitting quietly in the back, hoping he wouldn't get noticed. Of all the tiny robots clamoring for his attention, he had picked the one that had seemed too twitchy and nervous to even approach him.

Now, with the loss of his parents, he was more timid than ever, and his Ghost had taken up on that behavior, often hiding in his pocket. Now, there was a reason Martin Anton was out in his pajamas, in the middle of a storm, heading for the Guardian's mess hall. One of the new Hunters, an eccentric exo who's name he couldn't remember, was holding some sort of screening there, of an old earth film him and a few of the other newer revived recruits had picked up.

Word had spread illicitly through the different age ranks of children who lived in the Tower. One name was all they got, one name and a few other words; _"Harry Potter, Guardian's mess hall, tonight, eight sharp, he said."_

Currently...it was 09:10PM. Martin had never planned on going; if the his keepers and the parents of the other children who snuck out were ever to find out...But he was a loner, and lightning scared the living light out him, so he didn't really have anyone to wake up and talk to when a storm came anymore. So, the logical solution?

Seek out the little "party", where he could enjoy the reclusive presence of other people. At least, that was the plan.

But destiny had another plan, VERY dissimilar to his own; it decided, that, by some chance of fate, or dumb luck, or whatever you call it, he would spot a figure running unevenly towards the walls of the courtyard that he was walking though, this particular small wall meant to act as a guardrail of sorts to keep people from falling off the Tower. And it also decided that, Martin Anton, being true to his timid-but-kind nature, would find reason to find concern about this figure, due to the storm that raged around them.

He was soaked and sniffling in his pajamas, having been wandering around, looking for the Guardian's mess hall for what perhaps had been the last half hour. He was soaked, sniffling, lost, and scared, and he hadn't the heart to wake his Ghost, who was currently in sleep mode(literally) in the front top pocket of his night robes, and ask him for directions. He saw the figure, peering through the rain, wondering for a moment if it was just the lights playing with the physics of refraction with the water that coated his glasses. He blinked, wiping his glasses of with one of his too-big sleeves(which was redundant; his sleeve was soaked, too).

Vision sure, he still saw the figure, running at the wall, stumbling and small...like a child. Whoever it was, they kept taking things off their arms, and throwing them to the ground as they ran. Something small and bright, like a Ghost, zoomed out of where whoever-it-was had come from, following them. The figure seemed to ignore it, and stumbled up to the wall...before climbing to stand on top of it. The little light flew up to their face, and Martin felt panic seize him like one of the lighting bolts that flicked out like dragon tongues overhead.

 _They're going to jump!_ He realized. It was the only logical solution, given the situation unfolding before and around him. With a yelp, he ran forewords; he wanted to see the movie, not someone dying!

"Wait, wait!" he called through the storm, hoping the figure would hear him. "Wait wait! Wait! Not yet! Don't jump!"

The figure twisted around in his direction, and he felt a stitch in his chest sharply make itself known; he was never much of an athlete, and the wet night robes slapping against his legs didn't really help any, especially since they were too big for him. His run turned into something resembling more of a pathetic, floppy jog by the time he was close enough to make out a face of sorts.

"Wait!" he gasped, heaving for breath. _Why does this courtyard have to be so gosh-darned big!?_ "Wait!"

He looked up at the figure as he bent double, hands on his knees for support, trying to catch his breath. He was shocked to see it was a little girl, about his age, and even more so when he saw her face. At first, when he saw the glowing burn of sky-blue cutting through the rain, and the pale hair, he'd thought she was awoken. But her face was human, through-and-through, lacking the odd, glowing veins that most awoken had on their faces. Her hair was pale white, but there were hints of brown, almost like a trick of the light, at he base of her scalp.

She looked frightened, like he was of the storm, broken, like a Guardian who had just lost their first Ghost, and beneath it all was a desperation he had never see before, an anguish reflected in her eyes so much like his own, but so much more deeper.

"I have to die." she called down to him, voice raised against the storm. The wind howled, pushing at her back, as if trying to shove her back into the courtyard. She wore what looked like field-weave armor, though she'd torn off about half the arms, her gloves, helmet, and even one of the shoulder plates. It took him a few moments to recognize her.

"You're that girl!" he exclaimed, surprised, and unable to contain his questions. "The one who was dead! I saw you, at the lessons. Why don't you ever talk or stuff? Why do you always wear all that armor?"

"I'm dangerous." she cried, thunder booming to punctuate her words, the lightning dangerously close. The sound and sight of it made Martin scream and duck his head covering his ears. _Respect the storm, respect the storm, respect the storm! Respect the storm, and it'll respect you!_ His mother's mantra for thunderstorms rang through his bones, the saying she'd used to comfort him so many times. He didn't really know what it meant, even after all this time; it confused him, actually, because storms couldn't feel.

But still; it was comforting.

Panting like a stunned rabbit, he looked up and around, the girl looking at him with an expression of anguish, not even having flinched at the sound. His ears rang, and when she spoke, he couldn't hear her or the storm.

"WHAT!? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" he screamed as loud as he could, trying to hear his own voice, slowly taking his hands off his head, looking around the sky nervously and staying low. The booms and flashes seemed to lessen in magnitude and regularity somehow.

"I killed her!" the girl screamed at him desperately, sobbing. "I tried-I tried to stop her, but I killed her anyway!"

Martin had never been more terrified in his entire life. Here he was, in the middle of a storm, with a murderer threatening to kill herself. Soon, the terror was focused on the storm once more, as he analyzed her grammar. It wasn't something he did on purpose; it was just something he did, when things didn't sound right, when the words didn't fit correctly.

"Was it an accident?" he asked. She didn't have time to answer, as a bolt of lightning struck almost directly on top of her, the bolt shooting down into the City below, and making the girl duck. The sound was the single most terrifying thing he'd ever heard, and flash so blinding, at first he thought his vision was gone for permanent. He screamed as loud as he could, screaming his mother's mantra inside and outside of his head, crying, tears indiscernible from the rain. He crouched, rocking back and forth on his feet, hands over his head, eyes shut tight, as his hearing cleared once more, ears ringing.

Something bumped him on the head, and, still drowning his thoughts with his mother's mantra, he looked up to see a Ghost, in a very bold, bright shell, which was splashed haphazardly with bright greens and blues and yellows and reds, as if the owner hadn't really given any artistic though into coloring his shell. The paint must have been fairly fresh, as well, as it was slowly being washed away with the rain, leaking down in a colorful drizzle. He uncovered his ears, and the Ghost looked backup at the little girl.

"He's scared of the storm, not you. Poor thing'll have a heart attack if he's out here much longer. We should take him back to his parents; they'll be worried sick!" the Ghost called to her. She looked along the wall sadly, unresponsive. Martin felt fresh grief crash through him at the word "parents", his mother's mantra began to cut deeper into the wound of sorrow with each line he repeated in his head.

"They won't; they're dead. They died in the big battle." he yelled to the robot shakily, shivering madly from the cold and the fear. "I live in the foster center. Nobody's looking for me."

The girl's head snapped around in his direction, and her Ghost turned to look at him pityingly. It made him uncomfortable, the pity; not that he didn't appreciate it, but it made him feel...useless. Like he was.

"You…you lost yours, too?" she asked, sounding hopeful but looking guilty.

"They were Guardians. They went and fought, but they didn't come back." He said. He decided to repeat his last question, the frequency of the thunder and lighting increasing around them, the wind and the rain becoming more and more intense. He clung to his mother's mantra, and all the pain and comfort it held. "Was it an accident? Who you killed?"

"I kill everything I touch! I can't stop it! I'm a monster! Monsters have to die…" she sobbed, turning around to face the edge. Her Ghost flew back around to her face, perhaps to try and talk her down.

 _She lost her parents, too. She's my age. She's so much like me…and REALLY, REALLY scary, too. But...she's just really sad, too._ He pulled his overlong sleeve over one hand, and held it out towards her.

"Take my hand."

She turned, and saw a boy who was deathly-terrified of lightning, with large, green, spectacled eyes, rain-matted brown hair, and green night robes that were too long for him, one hand held out with a large, long sleeve pulled over it, a tiny, scared, kind smile on his face.

She took his hand.

* * *

"The Guardian's mess hall is just down here." the girl's Ghost said, leading down the very hall the girl had seemingly come out of. Martin was very grateful to be out of the storm, though the fact that a girl who killed everything she touched was now gripping his wet-sleeved hand as if it were a life-line was just a _tiny_ **(sarcastically)** bit disconcerting.

Thunder boomed down the hall, making him jump with a small yelp. He shouted his mother's mantra in his head, trying to calm himself down, but his jittery-ness remained. Both children shook violently from the cold, the wet, and the terror of their experiences, but Martin felt, as usual, selfish for being so scared when she had probably had even scarier things happen to her. He always felt selfish for being scared all the time, but there was so much to be scared of!

"You're really afraid of thunder." she said, speaking for the first time since leaving the wall. The sound of her voice almost made him jump out of his skin. It was softer than it had sounded when she was yelling at him in the storm, though shaking from the cold and emotions.

"What's ironic is my mom is- _was_ -a Stormcaller Warlock." he choked out, teeth chattering. The girl squeezed his hand a little harder, making the wet sleeve squish a little more. For some reason, it helped. Helped _what_ , he didn't know, but it helped.

"Here." the girl's Ghost called softly a short distance ahead, near a set of large double doors. They were left open just little bit; enough for someone to open them, but shut enough to look discrete. Faint noises could be hear from inside, cinematic explosions, virtual voices, the gasps of the children watching.

"What are we here for?" the girl asked shakily. He looked back at her.

"We're going to tell a Guardian what happened, and they'll be able to help." he told her. Her burning, unsettling sky-blue eyes widened.

"No! No, no, no, no! They'll-they'll do something bad to me!" she cried, panicking and trying to pull him away from the door. "Guardians kill monsters! It's what they're supposed to do!"

"You're not a monster! Don't be silly!" he pulled back, flicking his other sleeve down over his other hand and gripping her other arm to hold her there. She jerked a few time before relenting. "You're just a little girl, and it _was_ an accident. You said someone did this to you; maybe the Guardians can fix it! Besides, if any Guardians _would_ hurt you, it wouldn't be these ones, I promise!"

She looked down at the floor for a few moments, before giving him a nod.

"Okay." she said softly. "Who are they?"

He pried the door open a little, looking around the room before spotting the trio of Hunters near the back corner, "chaperoning" the varying age groups of children who sat, awed, on the floor as an old movie was projected onto the screen. His eyes immediately went to the screen, but he forced himself to concentrate.

"A group of Hunters. They lead a...well, I guess "illicit entertainment ring" is the best way to put it. Two of them are new Guardians, I don't know their names, but one of them's an instructor, Andal Brask, I think. They're all really encouraging of anything involving breaking the rules, _especially_ the exo and the awoken. Those two just kind of mess around a lot, whenever I see them. Which, isn't often by the way, but they're the only Guardians I know of who might but up right now. I don't think the Vanguard would like us charging their bedrooms."he told her. Nerves making his hands jerk around a lot, he let go of the girl's hand. "Stay here while I talk to them. I'll try not to let the other kids know."

She nodded, and, with a gulp, Martin Anton gently slipped through the doors, and went to speak with, for the very first time, Guardians other than his parents.

* * *

Cayde-6 wasn't a very demanding exo. Not every Ghost could restore a dead Guardian's memory completely, and his was such a case. However, the snippets of memories he did have were enough for him to know that his new lease on life was better than the last, and by golly, he was determined to enjoy it.

All he needed was a good prank, and some young minds to imprint is mischievous desires on, and he was good to go. So when his mentor, Andal Brask, had approached him about accompanying him on an "illicit" screening involving helping several kids sneak out, him and his best friend, an awoken named Tevis, had jumped at the chance.

What better way to spend your night than helping kids sneak out to see a classic that they couldn't go through life without? As Andal had said, "I don't graduate any Hunters who haven't seen the classics. It's thing of mine."

So far, Cayde was loving the classics.

"I love this chess scene." Andal whispered, leaning towards the two trainees where they stood, leading against some folded-up tables as they watched the movie. They were in standard issue civvies sets typically reserved for when Guardians had nothing left; or, in this case, they were just too lazy to use their real cloths. For Hunters, the set involved some cargo pants, a shirt, a gray hoodie with the Hunter crest embroidered on the back, and a pair of very(at least, in Cayde's opinion) functionable hiking boots.

Cayde and Tevis nodded absent-mindedly. _I think I'll save the 'choosing a favorite part' part for when it's all over..._

A tug on his jacket snapped his attention away from the screen.

"E-excuse me? ?" came a small, shaky voice that accompanied the tug. All three Hunters looked down to see a pathetic-looking little boy of about twelve, scrawny, with rain-darkened hair, round wire glasses not dissimilar to those of the boy in the movie's, and a green set of night robes that were obviously way too large for him. He was soaked through, dripping wet, and shivering madly.

"Call me Cayde! Good grief kid, you walk right through the monsoon or something? I though I got everyone who was coming from across an open place!" the exo exclaimed, looking the pathetic child over. He noticed, for the first time, the scared look on his face. He tapped Tevis, who was looking back at the movie, with the back of his hand, dread crawling through him. _Are we under attack? Is that why he's here?_ A million nightmarish scenarios ran through his head.

"What is it? What's wrong?" the boy looked over at the other children nervously, and when he spoke next it was in a hushed voice.

"I-I said I'd keep the other k-k-kids from finding out; p-please don't yell or freak out." he asked shakily, looking up at them with wide, worried green eyes. "I-I got scared, by the s-storm, so I was going to come here, but then I found the girl-the one who never talks. She was g-g-going to jump off the Tower, and she said it was because she was a monster. She said-sh-she said she killed someone, here in the Tower-by-by a-accident."

Shocked, Cayde looked aback at his mentor, unsure of what to do. Tevis stared at the boy, wide-eyed, mouth agape, and Andal looked grim, and equally just as shocked. _What? a kid killed someone by accident and then tried to commit suicide?_

"P-please; she said s-someone did something to h-her, to make her k-kill all the time. I said you could help; I p-promised." the boy added, teeth chattering. They looked back down at him."S-she's r-really scared of herself. She s-says _her_ p-parents are dead, t-too."

"You're from the foster center?" Andal questioned. The boy nodded, shaking so violently, Cayde doubted he could answer any more questions at this point.

"Where is this girl right now?" his instructor followed-up. With one, shaky, sleeved hand, the boy pointed at the doors. If Cayde was human, a chill would have crawled up his spine. What little girl could be so dangerous, she killed so by accident and thought herself a monster?

"Tevis." Andal said slowly. "Stay here and watch the kids. Cayde...come with me."

"Yes, sir." Tevis said obediently. Brask circled around them, and the boy took his hand, leading him towards the doors with urgent haste. Cayde followed them, letting out a huff of breath. _What a night._ Andal turned once to look at Tevis with a hardened gaze.

"The _kids_ , Tevis; not the movie." he reasserted.

"Yeah, yeah; got it, or whatever." he waved their instructor off, burning green eyes glued to the screen. Cayde got the feeling that his friend _would_ pay attention to the kids; the kids on the big screen, not the ones sitting on the floor. He turned back after Andal as Ron was knocked off his Knight, and all the kids in the room gasped.

"D-don't touch her on the bare s-skin. S-she says th-that's how she k-k-kills." the boy told them, Andal nodding and casting a glance at Cayde before pushing the doors open discretely. Cayde-6 cast a glance back towards the children in the room on the floor as he slipped through the exit, the doors squeaking horrifically, making sure none of them noticed. He saw Tevis pick up the remote and turn up the volume, and the brown-haired awoken turned his head, giving the exo a wink before turning his attention back to the movie. He gave his friend a tiny solute. _Thanks for the cover, Tevis!_

With that, he backed out completely, and slowly let the doors shut in his wake, still wincing at the sound they made.

Though that sound was almost completely drowned out by the full-force monsoon he had walked out into. Wind blasted through the open halls, rain lashed a the outside entrance he could see, and lightning and thunder crackled and roared outside, having no trouble with making itself heard quite clearly through the halls. His tactile sensors registered the cold, and the sound of the downpour made him feel colder just listening to it. With a shudder, he pulled his hood over his head and slipped his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.

Turning, he saw Andal crouched eye-level with what looked to be none other than the girl who had been revived; the one who refused to take off the field-weave her Ghost had revived her with, for reasons unknown. "Had" as in past tense, and her true appearance was shocking to say the least.

It looked like she'd ripped half the armor off in a fit of rage, revealing her pale, cold-but-definitely-human skin. She had roughly-cut shoulder-length hair, which was pale white, with brown peaking out from her scalp. But her eye were...well, "unsettling" was one word he could have used to describe them, as he even found Tevis's eyes "unsettling".

But for now, he would just settle for "gosh-darned freaking impossible".

 _What the heck? But...she's human! She looks human...wait, no...okay, yeah, she's human. How...?_

Her eyes burned like the eyes of the awoken, sky-blue and lighting up her face partially. She, too, looked like she was soaked to the bone, but there was a deep anguish etched in her features that shocked and disturbed him much more than her eyes did. That was a look you saw on war heroes who couldn't forget what they'd seen; not a little girl who only looked like she was twelve, the same age as the boy who'd brought her here.

"..and then-and then she touched my face, a-and then, s-she was dead." she was crying when he finally shook off the shock of her appearance. Her Ghost(at least, he assumed it was hers), who was painted in rain-washed bright colors, hovered close to her head as if to provide support. The little boy sidled up next to her as she seemed to finish her tale, and he use his sleeve-covered hand to grip her own comfortingly.

Andal heaved a sigh, burying his face in one hand. Both children looked at him apprehensively.

"Are...are you going to k-kill me like the darkness?" the girl asked eventually, eyes wide. The boy looked at her, exasperated, and Andal took his hand away from his face, gasping. Cayde let out an indignant huff, offended.

"Well excuuuuse me, princess!" he exclaimed, unable to contain himself. "We're not a bunch of murderous bigots, here; you're just what, twelve or something? If it's an accident, they call it manslaughter. If you kill by touching..well, I can see why you've been wearing that armor, but it's not classy-looking, so you're going to have to settle for something more stylish in the future!"

"Cayde-6!" Andal exclaimed, rising to his feet. The exo did the robotic equivalent of gulping with fear. _Nothing_ good happened when full names were involved. He tried to summon up the "puppy dog" eyes he had been working on. But he was saved by an unusual sound; not unpleasant, but rough, and soft, as if it had not been used in a long time. They all did a little double take.

The little girl was laughing. Giggling, trying to hide it with one hand like a child would normally do if they were laughing at something during a serious situation. She looked...normal. Not a death machine, not a monster, but just like any other average little girl. Cayde couldn't help but marvel at her; still with the strength to laugh, after everything he had just heard about her? He cast Andal a haughty look.

"I have the popular rating of the younger crowd; you know I'm untouchable by the law now, sensei." he said smugly. There was no way Andal would start a full-blown argument in front of the children; the traumatized, scared-out-of-their-skins children. The girl giggled again, though forcing it down quickly, and even the boy cracked a smile.

"Now, as I was saying..." the exo cleared his throat importantly, tugging at the collar of his hoodie as if he were adjusting a tie, and crouching down eye-level with the children. "You killed someone, yes? By accident? If so, that's manslaughter. Now, you're dangerous; you've made that perfectly clear. But a monster? Nah. We're all dangerous, once we learn to be. It's not how dangerous you are; it's _how_ you're dangerous."

The two kids looked at each other with a double "huh?", noses scrunched up with confusion. For a few moments, it had seemed like he'd really been saying something super-deep and awesome-saying. Standing over them, Andal face palmed.

"Um, ; you just basically argued against your own claim." the boy analyzed. _Oh, boy; you can tell that kid's a Warlock for sure..._

"The name's Cayde, remember? And I meant that it matters _how_ you _use_ the dangerous part of you!" he reiterated frustratedly. "Will you use it to protect, or bully? For good, or evil? Will you be a monster, or will you be the hero who goes after the monsters? You got that choice, you know."

The girl blinked, considering his words. Cayde stood, satisfied with himself. _I think that was a pretty epic speech, if I do say so myself. Entirely wise good advice, at it's highest peak._

Andal took a deep breath as Cayde cast him a smug glance.

"Where did this accident happen?"

* * *

It looked bad. _Very_ bad. The woman lay dead on the floor, eyes glazed over, body cold. Near one open, lifeless hand was the helmet that went with the girl's armor, a factor that had likely contributed to her demise. The two children stood outside in the hall, where Brask had insisted they stay.

His mentor crouched next to the body, brows knitted together with worry.

"This is bad, Cayde. Do you realize what we're walking into right now?" he said, looking up from the dead woman.

"Like...what? We tell the Vanguard what happened, we try and keep this from happening again. Simple." the exo shrugged. He couldn't see what Brask was being to dramatic about.

"No, it's not that simple." the human shook his head, staring down at the corpse once more. "How will they try to stop it? Contain her, lock her in a padded cell with a security blanket with promises of a solution that might not come? Turn her into a champion of the light with a dark power that's beyond our understanding? We don't know what this is, Cayde, we don't know exactly what this kid has been through. She just tried to kill herself, so we know it was bad. How much more do you think it will take to push her over to that extreme again?"

Cayde mulled those thoughts over in his coded head a little. It made sense, from an emotional standpoint. If they told anyone, the future of the girl looked bleak and empty, but if they didn't speak out, how long would it be before someone else made the same mistake of the girl's original caretaker? The Battle of Twilight Gap was still fresh in everyone's minds; he'd only been around a month before it happened.

People were still scared, repairs were still happening. Wounds hadn't healed yet, and scars were still fresh. Titans were jumpy, Hunters reluctant to leave for the wilds, Warlocks either too nervous to stay on task, or so on task that they neglected physical health in favor of their work. If word about this girl and her...abilities, got out, riots just might break loose. Relations between the major factions of the City were already strained enough as it was.

Dead Orbit would try to take her for themselves. The Future War Cult would want to set her on their enemies. New Monarchy would try to control her. The next guy after that would want to kill her, and the guy after that would want dissect her. There were no good options here at this point; just a steaming handful of really, super bad ones.

 _But which one to choose?_

"I think we should hide her." Brask spoke up after a while. "I think I might know someone who might be willing to take her in; a friend I think we can trust. I think I recognize that boy, the son of a Stormcaller I crossed paths with occasionally, Holly-something. Can't remember his name, but that friend of mine knew his mother. We rope him into the deal, she might just bite and agree to take them."

"Them?" Cayde asked with a start. "What do you mean, 'them'? It's just the girl who needs hiding, isn't it?"

"That boy managed to talk her down from something big, Cayde, and she's clinging to him like a clingy child-ugh, forget I said that, the point is; I think it's be best to keep them close to each other, just in case she tries to launch herself over the nearest guard rail again." his mentor explained, getting to his feet. "It could help."

"So, we just...how the heck are we going to hide _this_!" he motioned towards the body. "This is illegal, what you're suggesting, covering this up. Now, I'm all for the usually rule-breaking, but altering someones death...I'm not sure I'm okay with this, even if it is for the girl."

"Then back out while you have the chance." Brask shrugged. "I'll leave you out of the details."

Cayde-6 hesitated, and then heaved a sigh.

 _Ah, what the heck? I'm a Guardian; I'll probably die young anyway._

* * *

"This is not a secret to walk into lightly. If either of you want out, now's your last chance." Brask told him and Tevis about an hour later. They stood in the darkened quarters where the body was. The girl was in her bed, ready to play her part in the deception effort the Hunter mentor had planned. The boy, along with countless other children who had snuck out to see the movie, had been snuck back to their homes all the wiser about their past culture. "Once you're in, there's no backing out of this."

"I'm pretty sure we're all stuck in this together no matter what you say, Brask." Tevis shrugged.

"Yeah. Like a forcefully stuck-together fireteam. 'Cept, we're all buds, right?" Cayde added. Brask sighed, and ran his fingers through his short, blond hair, taking a deep breath.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together,"it looks like I'm stuck with you two then. Hey, girl, you ready in there?"

At the sound of his call, a small figure appeared in the doorway, hair dried, and dressed in a pink nightgown. _Hey! She took that stinky old armor off!_ _Seems like a good mental sign to me!_

"My name's Heather." she said quietly, looking at the floor. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Shaking his head, Brask took another deep breath.

"Well, here goes nothing." he heaved, leading his two charges off into the hallway. Cayde closed the door behind them, and they set off down the hall.

The girl's sky-piercing shriek could be heard even above the gale and thunder that tore through the air and howled through the halls.

 _I wonder what we just started?_ He wondered as they dashed back the way they came, just as they had planned.

* * *

 **Now, ya'll are probably going to kill me for including not one, but TWO canon characters who are doomed to die, in Silverhawk's past. There is a reason for this. I decided to include Cayde because, lets face it, he's an AWESOME character, and I can totally see him, Tevis, and Brask influencing the future generations of Hunters with their shenanigans. Plus, Silverhawk has to get her charming personality from somewhere; why not a source we all find familiar? And I'm sure you all recognized Silverhawk's signature line in there! Cayde started it!XD Uldren can thank him for all the "princess"-ing in _Fever_! XD**

 **Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant: Yeah, with the early Fever chapters I was just winging it. In fact, after reading it through on Fanfiction, I've noticed that some words, even entire paragraphs are missing ton some places. I have no idea what happened there, I'll be trying to fix that in the near future, as well as patch up some of the early chapters a little. At first, I was writing Fever to be just plain ridiculous, but now I have more of an idea where I'll be going with it. Also, I totally agree with you that she would thrive in the real world in a Catholic area. Your review helped so much! I was half way through writing this chapter, when I got stuck on how Cayde and the Hunters three would react. I knew it would end up with her in hiding, I just didn't know how it would play out. Thanks for giving me the idea to include the Guardian Factions as a problem! But Silverhawk and Martin were totally lying to Uldren when they said that the Vanguard and Speaker knew; they were just trying to seem a little more trustworthy to him. I suppose it was kind of a half truth, though, really; Vanguard as in plural, two Vanguard DID and DO know about Silverhawk at this point; Brask and Cayde. As for Certech...my theory is that the Light(for this AU, at least), or, the ability to wield it as a weapon, is a genetic mutation like the gene for red hair, and that the Light is an amplified form of background radiation energy. The Darkness is simply the other end of that energy spectrum. It doesn't matter about if you're good or evil; it's all in the DNA. Now, an adult is harder to revive with memory intact than a child because of their development, so that's why some revived Guardians experience amnesia. At least for this universe.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Yeah, if you think this is bad, wait until later in the series. You may want to hide in bathroom stalls when you read these as things get real. ;) But yes, there are many feels. But don't worry; we'll be seeing Silverhawk's winning personality beginning to develop some in the next chapter, and we'll get a tiny visit for a certain grumpy someone. :)**

 **But yeah; Brask, Cayde, and Tevis will play an honorary part in this tale. I needed fun characters to influence Silverhawk's personality, and they fit the bill. In the "Dysfunctional Fireteam" universe, I picture her as seeing Cayde as sort of a mentor figure, and we'll be seeing that develop as time goes on. It will also make things a bit interesting if she ever happens to run across Taniks during her travels as a Hunter...after all, with including Brask must come certain desires for revenge.**

 **That being said, Question of the Chapter: How sorry would you feel for Taniks if Tevis and Cayde were to find out his location rather than Variks and the Reef? I mean, I've been thinking about writing a quick thing about Tevis sneaking Cayde out of the Tower so they can get their revenge, because I think it's safe to assume that, as Tevis and Cayde are old friends, Tevis would have been close to Brask as well. Who would you bet on; Taniks, or two angry Hunters who REALLY, _REALLY_ , want revenge?**

 **Next time: Brask and the sensational duo high-tail it out of the Tower as fast as they can, Silverhawk is a lot more cheerful, and she inadvertantly annoys Uldren for the very first time ever!**

 **Cheers!^^**


	3. 13

**Quote of the Day: "My clothes don't match, my clothes don't match; I'm out in public and my clothes don't match!" - unknown child, original " _Jimmy Neutron_ " movie.**

* * *

 **One Year Later... Approximately; I'm Not really Sure...**

"Martin, Martin! Wake up, wake up, wake up! It's the day, it's the day, it's the day!" A full-force hurricane of energy landed on his lower body painfully, a pair of hands shaking him excitedly, the screams of the young teen combined with the slamming open of the door jerking him awake unpleasantly from a rather pleasant dream about the Boson Cloud Exciter theory.

He groaned, trying to pull the dream back so he could finish solving the equation, but the puzzle illuded him, and her excitement was making it hard for him to breath, what with her bouncing excitedly on top of him. _Just five more minutes... I would have had it..._

"It's always the day, Heather..." he groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. A gloved hand tore it off of him and tapped him on the face annoyingly.

"But it's _the_ day! We're going to miss Brask and the others, and then we won't be allowed in the hangar!" her voice insisted vehemently. Martin Anton jerked up, sitting bolt upright, gripping his hair. _Oh, shoot! I completely forgot!_

"What time is it!" he blurted. Heather Chancellor, the girl he had saved from herself nearly a year ago, knelt on his legs, arms crossed impatiently, fidgeting hyper-actively. She had, over the last year, changed quite a bit from the quiet, sad girl he'd met out in the storm.

For some reason, the day after it had happened, when she'd been put in the foster center temporarily, he'd found himself going over to sit next to her in the courtyard for lunch. And, soon after, they'd been assigned a caretaker; _him_ , a caretaker! It had been quite a giddy, awesome experience, learning that someone had selected him.

At first, he'd been a little apprehensive about sharing a home with the girl who could kill by touching, but there was a strange connection between the two of them that he'd been unable to explain. So, rather than try to explain it, which had resulted in making his brain hurt, he'd decided to go along with the source of his unease. And that sources e of unease had since then become the truest, bestest friend he'd ever had.

Which, when he thought about it, really didn't mean much; not when one considered the fact that he'd never had any friend in the first place. Even before his parents had died, 'people' was something he'd had trouble with. In classes, he would, and still did, keep his head down and hope that nobody would notice him.

And she had been the same way; at first, at least. Then they'd started talking to each other more. After a month, she cracked the occasional joke. After two months, she was cracking them every two seconds.

Now, that quite, suicidal girl was gone, replaced by the five-alarm fire that was now bouncing on his bed, eyes burning blue. Their foster mother, a woman named Chelsie Birding, described the change as "miraculous _and_ disconcerting."

She'd directed this particular comment at Cayde-6, who was a vehement supporter of Heather's new nature. Mostly because now-a-days, she'd started to get comfortable enough to play the occasional prank. And Martin had a serious feeling that Cayde had been giving her lessons in that particular "art", as they both called it.

The trio of Hunter and trainees kept close tabs on both of the children, though mostly on Heather. Together with Birding, as far as he could glean, anyway, their goal was to make sure Heather was safe enough in public, and kept safe from the public. All four had stressed to Martin and Heather multiple times about how important it was to keep the secret of Heather's now-named "deathtouch" a secret at all times, forever and always, never to be revealed to ANYONE, no matter the circumstances.

But today was the day three of those four left. Andal Brask, finally having his sanity snapped in half by the year-and-a-half of training Tevis and Cayde, had decided that his last two charges would be the ones to join him in a fireteam that would, today, be departing for the wilds of Venus.

This did not mean that Martin and Heather were the only ones devoted to the humorous Hunters three. There were admirers all the way up to the eldest "life-chosen" Guardians; Guardians chosen from among the living rather than the dead, such as Heather, having been raised since birth as future champions of the light. Brask, Tevis and Cayde were a very popular trio.

"It's nine! The _smelly_ _ **Queen**_ is going to be here soon!" Heather exclaimed, wrinkling her nose as she spoke of the royalty whos arrival would cut their goodbyes with with Hunter fireteam short. It had been over a year since the Battle of Twilight Gap, and the Queen of the Reef was visiting the Tower for a commemorative event to the Guardians and Reef solders who had fallen in the Battle and Reef Wars.

Unfortunately, her arrival also conceded with the departure of Cayde, Tevis, and Brask, which meant that the Tower hangar would be close to the public shortly before she touched down. If Martin and Heather wanted to wave their heroes off with everyone else, they would have to hurry.

"NINE! We're going to miss them!"Martin exclaimed, jerking the covers off himself. Practically blind, the world a large blob of hazy figures all around him, he reached for we're the desk he kept his glasses should be, located the spectacles, and shoved them onto his face so fast, he almost poked one of his eyes out. Heather jumped down from the bed, and he slid off after her. She wore a pale brown tunic with some light green pants, and long gloves that went up to her shoulders. The story they were going with was "severely embarrassing skin rash", and so far, she had played her part well.

Launching himself out of bed and slipping into the gray, fuzzy slippers at the edge of his bed, him and Heather burst out of his room.

"We're going to be late, we're going to be late!" He shouted as they ran through the living quarters, a large, rectangular room with a kitchen leaning off to one side of it, and two sets of bedrooms on either end. in the kitchen, Martin could just catch a peak of their foster mother's hair, and the smell of breakfast made his mouth water. _Breakfast can wait! Brask and the others can't!_

"We're going to see of the Hunters, mom!" Heather called as they charged for the door. A few months ago, she had refused to call Birding her mother; but over time, she'd warmed up to the kind-though-sometimes-brash woman. And Martin found he rather liked her as well; he remembered her vaguely as a friend of his birth mother, and it felt good to know he was being taken care of by a familiar face.

He barely had time to register her call to be home by ten before him and Heather were exploding out the front door, her in her day clothes, him in a baggy set of gray pajamas and slippers. He kept having to pull his pants up, and his shirt flopped uncomfortably on his back. For some reason, finding clothes that fit him was like trying to find a four-leaf-clover in a mile-wide patch of the three-leafed variety.

They ran down the halls, surprised Guardians and their family members leaping out of the way as the children got underfoot. Heather dragged him by the wrist, his chest bursting, side letting off sharp bursts of pain, as his crazily-athletic friend(who had never, as far as he knew, done so much as an hour of true exercise in her entire life) forced him onwards.

"Heather!" He gasped, heaving for air as they reached the elevator. "Heather! I-need-to-breath, Heather!"

She halted suddenly in the courtyard the elevator only a few meters away, and Martin dizzily let himself collapse to the ground, chest heaving and side biting, sitting in a heap as Heather shifted from foot-to-foot impatiently. He adjusted his glasses as he took long, deep, gasping breaths. _I hate athletics!_

He would make quite the solder, he was sure. He could barely run ten seconds without getting a stitch in his chest;how was he supposed to be able to run for his life from the a thrall when he was attacked as a Guardian?

"We're _going_ to be _late_!" Heather hissed, foot taping.

"The Queen won't be here until ten!" he exclaimed."

"Brask is leaving in ten minutes!" Heather countered, hands on her hips. He hair had grown somewhat over the past year, a good inch and a half of it brown at the base of her scalp now, and her heart-shaped face was starting to become more defined. She'd also had a growth spurt, rising a good head above him, whilst he hadn't grown at all since the day they had met.

They'd both been disappointed and sad to hear that Brask and his two students would be leaving. He'd told them that it was "a Hunter's way", a longing to be in the wild that had been gnawing at him for the good three years he'd been training revived Hunters. The way things worked in the Tower, was that there were two groups of Guardians, two ways of training. There was the Revival Course, for Guardians that had been found dead and revived by their Ghosts, and then the Born Course, for Guardians who were born with the ability to use light, the ones who grew up in the Tower, mostly the children of other Guardians.

Brask was a Revived guardian, a veteran Hunter, and he'd been directly training Revived Hunters like himself for three years. There were several others like him, as Hunters and the other Classes as well, often training groups of up to five Revived Guardians each. Brask had once remarked how Cayde and Tevis were the smallest class of Guardians he'd had yet, as well as the most promising, and he'd told the children a month ago that he planned on forming a Fireteam with them after they graduated.

For the life-chosen Guardians, things were different. They spent their whole lives able to use the light, experimenting with it and learning how to wield it, sharpening their skills. Since Heather was young enough, she would be joining the life-chosen training course with Martin once they reached a certain age. They would go to an exposition where they would decide what Class of Guardian they wanted to be, and then they would train to become one.

But the system wasn't without it's divisions; there was a special kind of rift between revived and life-chosen Guardians. Revived Guardians were the first Guardians, when the Collapse had begun and the Traveler had died. They had been the ones to start it all. The life-chosen Guardians saw themselves as superior to the revived Guardians, on the basis of having trained their light more, having been born in this time and knowing it more, have been much, much more experienced in fighting the darkness than any revived Guardian could ever be.

It was an old tension that always hung in the air, just like the fears and rivalries between the three Guardian factions. Martin planned on staying away from such conflicts; it was far too dangerous to get in the middle of the "life-chosen" v.s. "revived" conflict, or anything where the Future War Cult was involved.

Still panting, Martin groaned. _Why, cruel world;_ why _!?_

"Fine." He moaned, gradually getting to his feet, stitch smarting."But you're paying my hospital bill."

"Come _on_!" the huffed, grabbing his wrist and jerking him towards the elevator with a yelp. _I hope she never drinks coffee!_ Halting as the elevator came up, Heather pushed the button rapidly, shifting form one foot to the other impatiently. Martin silently will the elevator to go slower so that he could recover from his impromptu wake-up call.

The elevator arrived with a _ding_ , and Heather pulled him inside hastily, several people jumped out of her way as they came out. She began pushing the button for the Tower hangar as quickly as she'd been pushing the other button, and Martin shifted uncomfortably as the few people, some of the Guardians, left in the elevator looked at them oddly.

"Come on, come on, come on..." Heather muttered between her teeth as the elevator descended, still pressing the button. When they stopped, she jerked Martin off his feet again, just when he was beginning to recover completely, and he was being pulled rapidly along with her once more, gasping as she dragged him through the hangar.

The sun shone bright through the wide entrance, some ships hung above in docking clamps, some more were perched to the side. Others were stored below the runway, Martin knew, awaiting the need for use. A few ships, those scheduled for liftoff, were waiting below on the runway. There were only three; two, a pair of maroon Kestral models he couldn't memorize the names of yet, were meant as an escort that would go out to meet the Queen shortly. Already, he could see the wings and thrusters moving as the pilots prepped for take-off.

The other ship was the reason they couldn't take off yet; it was foremost on the runway, a large, dark red Regulus model. There was a small crowd gathered around it, some other children, many others adults. Heather's pace picked up, and a mechanic let out a yelp as she was nearly knocked over by the two children.

"Sorry!" Martin called after her breathlessly as she re-settled the blueprints she had gathered in her arms, glaring after the two.

He was pulled around a corner, nearly tripping on his own feet, and was soon being forced down the stairs to the runway by Heather. He heaved for breath, unsure if he could take much more of this, and panicking as he struggled to maintain his footing. _I can't take much more of this!_

Heather let go of his wrist near the bottom of the stairs, jumping over the last two steps and charging off towards the crowd gathered around the departing fireteam. Martin tripped on the last step, let out a frightened yell as his insides lurched, and landed on his face. _OW!_

"Heather!" he complained, yelling after her as he brought his head up, adjusting his glasses after checking them for cracks. His friend ignored him, or rather, didn't hear, and, panting and gasping for breath, Martin pulled himself to his feet, brushing is nightshirt off and adjusting his left slipper before walking over to the crowd, clutching his side and wincing as his bruised knees stretched.

Brask, Cayde, and Tevis stood on the thin, extendable ramp that came out from their ship's side. The people surrounding them, children and adults, were clamoring for the attention of the three popular Hunters. Brask was laughing at some sort of joke, and Cayde was telling one to a nearby Titan, while Tevis was showing off to a duo of women, balancing his knife on his nose by the handle before jumping, sending it into the air, and catching it, sheathing it with a flourish before bowing.

Heather got down on her hands and knees and crawled through the crowd, several people protesting to the action.

"Sorry. Sorry. _Really_ sorry!" Martin apologized sheepishly as he squeezed through the sea of bodies. He came out of the crowd just as Brask let out a loud whistle, signaling everyone to be silent. The pajama-clad boy came out next to his friend, who was looking up at their role models reverently.

"Now," Brask began, Cayde and Tevis behind him, "I've been stuck training these two for a whole year and a half, you know? And before that, I was stuck training another group of knuckle-heads,*cough*whom shall not be named*cough*, and that means I've been stuck in this Tower for three years. I've decided, that these two knuckle-heads, are the knuckle-heads I'll be keeping."

"Yeah, we're stuck with him forever." Tevis interjected mournfully, putting one hand over his heart.

"Bound by a blood-oath; 'cept, I don't have any." Cayde added with a depressed sigh. Brask snorted, rolling his eyes before continuing.

"Now, I know we're beloved by all; and I say that with the _utmost_ arrogance. But it's time to move on to greener pastures." Brask announced solemnly, gaining a few groans and boos. he waited for them to go silent again before speaking once more. "It's a Hunter's way; we aren't meant to stay locked up in this Tower for goodness-knows-how-long! I feel sorry for our Vanguard representative; he's lost the Dare three times in a row! Poor stinker. Must be a miserable life, that one. We'll return, when our travels take us home; but until then, it's off to the wilds with us! For the City! For the Traveler! For the Light! Fo-"

"For the ladies!" Tevis interrupted, winking in the direction of the women he'd been showing off to.

"For our ever-increasing egos!" Cayde cheered. Both men fits-bumped, before raising their joined fists in the air.

"FOR THE EXPLOSIONS!" They chorused enthusiastically. Heather let out a whoop, punching their air, as Brask face-palmed and the rest of the crowd clapped and cheered. Martin rolled his eyes, clapping. _They're going to give Brask_ such _a headache!_

But, no matter how the human seemed to be exasperated with his charges, it was easy to tell he how attached he was to Cayde and Tevis. Even when they had been in training, the three were rarely seen without each other, no matter how much Brask had complained about them. They were tight-knit, and they were probably the most popular Guardians in the Tower.

A loud alarm rang through the hangar.

 **"Would all Guardians and non-Guardians evacuate the main hangar please. Again, all Guardians and non-Guardians evacuate the main hangar in preparation for the Queen's arrival."** A feminine voice requested over the comms.

The announcement was met with boo's and raspberries. Brask squared his shoulders, turned, and ushered Cayde and Tevis up the ramp. Tevis turned and gave an eccentric, sloppy bow in their direction before entering the ship, and Cayde gave the crowd a two-fingered "I'm cool and you know it" solute. The crowd cheered and whooped, and beside him, Heather took out an aerosol can and began spraying silly string into the air. He jumped back from her as some of it landed on his head, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Farewell, Tower! Enjoy this peace while it lasts!" Brask called back to them, before disappearing into the ship. The ramp raised, and the engines started. The crowd backed up, and the Regulus powered up. Martin covered his face with one arm as wind was blasted outwards in all directions. Fear pounded in his gut as the loud, thunder-like noise surrounded him, like a storm. _It's not a storm, it's not a storm. It's just a ship; it's not a storm._ He told himself fervently. It didn't help, and his heart kept beating faster as the Regulus lifted off of the ground vertically, before the thrusters snapped to a horizontal position and blasted the ship forwards, sending it bursting out of the hangar.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Heather shook him excitedly, sending his glasses askew.

 **"I repeat; everyone out of the main hangar, please. Don't make me ask you again."** the same voice from before demanded tiredly. Heather let out an indignant huff, and she grabbed Martin's hand again as he set his glasses straight, earning another yelp of surprise from him as she led him away with the rest of the grumbling crowd.

"The dumb Queen had to ruin everything!" she grouched as they climbed up the stairs, trailing after a few other children.

"Well, they were gonna leave anyway, Heather." he let out a yipe of surprise as his slipper caught on a stair step, and he nearly lost his footing. "The Queen just...well, sped it up, I guess."

"Whatever." she snorted. As they came up to the top of the steps, they turned at the sound of the escort ships taking off. As they watched the Kestrals disappear, Heather turned to him with a grin. "You know, I've been thinking...it wouldn't be a proper Tower welcome without Brask and the others here to make it interesting..."

"Heather..." he asked slowly, dread sinking into his stomach. "What are you planning?"

"Oh, nothing." she snickered, grinning up out of the hangar. "Just a little song..."

* * *

An hour later, Martin was watching six figures walking through the balcony-like courtyard that protruded from the fourth floor, heading towards the large chunk of wall that had been set at the end, overlooking Twilight Gap. Martin knew that chunk by heart; every name, every death. How many hours had he spent, sitting beside the wall chunk, tracing his parent's names?

The Queen had insisted that daily activities not be interrupted by her presence, so those who were usually at the courtyard at that time of day were still there, as well a few others who were curious to see the royalty. Martin and Heather sat behind one of the hedges on one of the raised platforms that edged both sides of the courtyard. He was still a bit put off by her plan, but he was bored, and perhaps it would help him worm his way out of speaking in public, if family members were asked to speak out.

He was now wearing a blue T-shirt, and a pair of baggy brown cargo pants, along with some brown boots, all of which were rather a little too big for him. heather wore the most obnoxiously-colored clothing he'd ever seen, and he was certain that if surprising the royalty had been her ploy, she'd certainly succeeded. He held in his hands a device of his own invention, hastily built, but functional none-the-less. It would do the damage that Heather was the most eager for.

"Okay, so the blond is the Queen?" Heather asked for confirmation. He nodded. "Then who's the guy who looks like he was forced to bite a lemon?"

"That's her brother, Prince Uldren." Martin told her, pointing at the black-hair awoken man as the Vanguard led them to the wall chunk. "He's part of an elite group; the Crows. They're information specialists, like spys, but since the Reef wars, rumor has it they've started doubling as black ops specialists. On top of that, from what I hear, they've got robo-bird scouts as well."

"Robo-bird scouts? Man, that a 'The Birds' situation waiting to happen." she commented, smirking and giving him a light punch on the shoulder as he went pale.

"Heather! Quit mentioning that movie!" he demanded, eyes wide, trying to banish the memories.

" _You're_ the one who snuck out with me!"

" _You're_ the one who ignored Brask when he said, and I quote, 'No children under the age of 16!'"

"Man, you know I can't resist Hitchcock films."

"How do you sleep at night, Heather?"

"Like a baby, little Martin. Like a baby."

Martin rolled his eyes. He would never understand Heather's fascination with scary movies. The Titan Vanguard shifted position on the Queen's left, and Martin bit back a gasp as the third member of her party,whom he hadn't been able to see cleary, was revealed.

"Whoa! She's gotta be 'round the same age as the life-chosen graduates." Heather exclaimed beside him, echoing his own thoughts. "Who is she?"

It was a rather pretty awoken girl, roughly eighteen, or maybe nineteen, with fushia-dyed hair that was tied back in a short, military-fashion braid. Her eyes were fierce and sky-blue, and she was clearly very important, judging by the Commander's uniform she wore. In his head, Martin put the pieces together.

"That must be Petra Venj!" he hissed out the corner of his mouth. "She led an attack on Cybele, during the Uprising. She took out over half the Silent Fang, and was responsible for near over half the awoken victories in the Hildean Campaign. Never thought she'd be so young, though..."

"Well, I guess age isn't everything, then." Heather piped, looking at him with a wicked grin on her face, putting a pair of sunglasses on. "You ready for this?"

"Yep." he answered fearfully, gulping. _We could get in_ so _much trouble for this..._

He pressed the " _on_ " button, fiddled with the small levers, and turned the device on.

* * *

Zavala was new to the Vanguard. Jarivs Coce, the Hunter Vanguard and reluctant Commander, had been there the longest, and the Warlock, Ikora Rey, had been there for at least a year or two. He'd only been here a couple of months, and already, he was meeting their largest potential allies; his own people.

He was earthborn, of course, so the experience was surreal at most, _embarrassing_ at least.

And why was it embarrassing? Because, one moment, they're walking towards the memorial, the Queen speaking solemnly with Jarvis, and the next, the chicken dance song was blaring from the loudspeakers. All of them jumped, Zavala mentally cussing.

"What the heck?" Petra exclaimed beside him.

"What is this?" The Queen demanded of Jarvis, who looked around panickedly.

"I don't know! Damn it, Brask must have had those hoodlums do something to the comms before they left!" the Hunter exclaimed, gripping his head in panic, face twisted with rage.

"THIS SONG IS AAARRRRRT!" a small voice boomed supriseingly loudly. They all whirled around to see a young girl with stark white hair, which was brown at the base of her scalp, wearing a pair of large sunglasses and assualtingly bright mis-matched clothes. Her shirt was bright pink, but her pants were a shocking yellow, and she wore an electric blue plaid vest. She had leapt out from behind several bushes, and was doing a little jig.

"My clothes don't match, my clothes don't match; I'm out in public and my clothes don't match!" she sang as she danced. Zavala wasn't sure how to react, and before he could, she whirled around elegantly and charged off in the opposite direction. He glanced at Jarvis as the music continued. The Hunter was simply standing there, shell-shocked, hands on his head, Ikora looked confused, Prince Uldren looked supremely annoyed, Petra also looked confused, and the Queen looked somewhat amused by the whole situation.

"Well, I see that the spirit of you youth has yet to be crushed, at least. A good sign, I assume." the Queen commented. She nodded in the direction of the memorial. "Come; let us continue."

Ikora gave the bush the girl had presumable come out of a stern look before turning away like the rest of them. Uldren glared at the nearest loudspeaker with a golden gaze that had more hatred loaded into it than Zavala could have thought possible.

"Can you shut that junk off?" the Prince snapped angrily, as Zavala wondered if the loudspeaker might burst into flames. The Prince was fairly young-looking, with black, neatly-cut short hair, and looked as if his face was frozen in a perpetual scowl. The Queen, in a sense of the word, looked to be his opposite, blond and eyes like ice, with elegant facial features that gave her the look of being both defiant, _and_ benevolent.

The young Commander Venj, for all her youth, had a battle-hardened look about her, a down-to-earth no-nonsense blue-eyed stare that occasionally softened to curiosity as she took in her first sights of the Last City. He doubted he would ever be able to forget the look of awe on her face when she first laid eyes on the Traveler out in the open, instead of from within her Queen's ship.

"Lightbulb." Jarvis sighed, calling his Ghost out, which materialized to hover by his head.

"On it." "Lightbulb" declared. He zoomed off, scanned the nearest loudspeaker, and his shell parted as he began to try and turn off the song. Uldren gave a snort, turning.

"Pity the future unlucky space urchin who gets paired with _that_ one..." he muttered under his breath, causing a flash of anger to bolt through Zavala. _You would think a Prince would be more..._ not _like this._ Jarvis turned to the Queen sheepishly.

"Now...we were saying?"

* * *

 **Hehe, Uldren just kind of jinxed himself, didn't he? And WHO REMEMBERS JIMMY NEUTRON!? I recently found myself getting punched in the childhood, re-watching it while eating my breakfast the other morning. If you don't know what Jimmy Neutron is... WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE!? GO WATCH THE ORIGINAL MOVIE _NOW_ , before I have Martin set Peppermint on you!**

 **It's a classic of it's time, a masterpiece. Whether you be child or adult, it is something you MUST SEE at least ONCE IN YOUR LIFE for said life to be COMPLETE WHEN YOU DIE. The original movie spawned an equally-successful long-running TV series-one of the few films ever to do so on such a popular scale. "Planet Sheen" is what killed the "Jimmy Neutron" universe and series. If you want something to blame of it's discontinued existence, blame THAT. I seriously commander Jimmy Neutron to ANYONE and EVERYONE of ALL AGES.**

 **AND _OH MY GOSH THE AOS FINALE!_ My poor wee heart, couldn't take the punishment of ******** dying and everything that followed.**

 **Daisy...a goth...**

 **wut?**

 **NCIS finale... I'ma just say what Amberstar said in her update; it was like something they ripped right out of the fanfic archive. I mean, I can see what they were trying to do, but still...it kind of felt... bleh. Especially for the send off of a character like Dinozzo. 13, many jokes, and more movie references than you can shake a stick at...**

 **Farewell, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo./3 :'(**

 **Personaly, I hope that black brit(watz'isname? I'm horrible, I know) becomes the new next-season regular. I am speaking almost entirely from Whovian favoritism.**

 **Writer's Pen 77: I don't think Orxy can Take Guardians. And nah, 'Hawk's going to be the only hybrid in this series, and I doubt the Jovians will ever play a part here. I'm glade you like my story! Look forwards to more!**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: OH _MAN_ I want to see Civil War SO BADLY! You lucky little stinker, you! And I'm willing to bet Tevis a thousand glimmer that you bawled your eyes out at the AoS finale. I know _I_ did... The sybolysm of Yo-Yo's Cross necklace, once kind of foreboding, was actually somewhat beautiful when the moment actually came; it, in a way, marked *******'s sacrifice to save someone they really cared about, and that they were going to a better place as the Quinjet blew up. Like I said, it broke my wee heart. Man, it's going to be WEIRD without Ward next season. Daaw, "Hawk appreciats your concern... buuuuut she's busy scooping peanut butter into Martin's shoes again. Man, I can't say enough how much I fear for your emotional state once I get into messing with you guys's feels for REAL. :) Yeah, I think Taniks would last, like, ONE, maybe TWO seconds against a vengeful Cayde and Tevis duo.**

 **Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant: No; Brask's goal is to COMPLETELY keep her a secret, from EVERYONE as long as they possibly can, for both her safety and the safety of others. They can't risk anyone knowing, or they risk her getting used; which, she REALLY doesn't want. Not even the Speaker could or will know; THAT'S how major this is. In my head, Alisha was a councilor for revived Guardians. What Brask and the gang did at the end of last chapter, was set it up to make her death look like some kind of sudden, internal organ failure, perhaps accounted to an old injury of sorts. Yup, Brask and the gang will serve an important mentor role, Cayde in particular. You already saw how he was with her in _Fever_ ; Silverhawk, in his eyes, is one of his greatest accomplishments. He's helped build her up from the very rock bottom along with his friends, and he's turned her into a force to be reckoned with. We'll be seeing some of that mentor/apprentice bond later on. Yeah, Martin is my personal favorite at this point in my obsession with this little universe I've made up; in fact, he's going to play a very vital "Reef-ish" role in the future. He's a Warlock who enjoys puzzles, and we saw how he got along with Variks quite nicely in _Fever_ ; the Fallen like building stuff, and building stuff is like solving a puzzle. I don't think I'm giving too much away when I say that you can expect Variks to become a regular visitor to this series, him and Petra both. Martin's choosing his Ghost was basically like going to a pet shop and picking out that one special puppy from the litter; after all, most of the times, a Ghost is a companion for life, and there's a special kind of bond in that Ghost/Guardian relationship. Yes, he may have power, but he's kind of a bit... stunted, in the the most accurate sense of the term. His powers are more like potential energy rather than something he can just use willy-nilly like most Guardians can. You saw how he had a bit of trouble with the initial activation of Nova Bomb in _Fever_? And WOW; you REALLY, _REALLY_ want me to binge on the Destiny lore stuff, don't you? I gave a few things a few looks, but then I got destracted by the fact that I FINISHED MY NIGHTSTALKER AND GOT MY WARLOCK UP TO LEVEL FOURTY! _OH YEAH!_ Amberstar did the same, as well. And then I got destracted by fanfiction and now I'm writing this. I mean, MAYBE I'll get around to all THAT stuff eventually, but for now, I'm quite content to cave in to my ADHD. I actually have a semi-plan for Taniks, and it involves Silverhawk, as well as(to a certain extent) Cayde-6. It will be fairly interesting, a bit feels-y, of course. Silverhawk will NEVER grow up! **

**NEEEEEEEEEEEVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRR!**

 **What do you guys think of the _sensational_ Hunter trio so far? I suddenly realized that I made a mistake with Tevis's age and the way his voice sounds... well, I think I've found a fix for that, kind of, and I suppose, experience-wise, and in the world they live in, twelve months in Guardian years is like, the equivalent of six years, because things are so dangerous and so much can happen in that space of time. So there's the fix for his experience.**

 **By the way, I'm not sure whether or not this may be my last post for this year, at least until school starts back up again. Sooooo... just in case, you all leave some nice reviews, and see you on the flipside of summer!**

 **Any pranks you want to see our now-much-more-cheerful Silv-Heather Chancellor? Thoughts on the younger royal family and itsy-baby Petra?**

 **Next time: We get a look at Tevis's Bow, and Heather makes an enemy...**

 **Read and REVIEW!**

 **Cheers!^^**


	4. 14

**Quote of the Day: "I used to be an adventurer, like you. Then I took an arrow to the knee."-(Ex)Adventurer**

 **Two Years Later...**

"Okay, you're ready." Martin said, holding the braid up with one gloved hand. "Ghost's, prep for the picture."

"You're sure this is a good idea, Martin? Someone might see." Heather fretted from where she sat on the bench as Martin took up the large, white orchid in one hand. Both their Ghosts floated up to where they had a good view of the two of them, and Martin put the flower in his mouth as he took his gloves off, though it was a bit of a struggle as he still had to hold her hair up.

"I think it's an excellent idea." her ghost told them. Martin's own ghost nodded.

Over the last year, both of the tiny robots had acquired names; Wheatly for Martin's, as they had discovered a rather charming game called _Portal_. And, after watching a hilarious romance movie called _The Princess Bride_ , Heather had named her own ghost Westley.

"I agree." Wheatly said in his monotone. "Every girl should have at least one picture with flowers in her hair. I think."

"Okay." she said skeptically, rubbing her bare arm nervously.

They had decided, or rather, Martin had, that since the weather was so fine, they should take a picture. A picture of Heather without her gloves and usual coverings, in a spring dress with flowers in her hair like any other normal girl. She wore a pearly white dress that went down to her knees, with a pattern of vines and honeysuckles running up one side of it to curl around the collar. The sleeves stopped short at her shoulders, but the top parts stuck out and down bit in a way that was reminiscent of some armor. She wore sandals, and Martin, wearing gloves, had put her hair in a french braid that went down, approximately, to the small of her back. In the braid, he had stuck various flowers, ranging from Blue Starlets to Saxifrage to a few tiny lilies.

The orchid came from a plant he'd been nursing for a while now, one that Brask had sent him for his birthday, from the jungles of Brazil. Growing the plant had been difficult; it was a Constantia, and keeping it the right humidity and tending the vellozia it grew on was a pain and a labor that rewarded him greatly with the sight of the flowers.

Heather had grown some more in the last year, raising a few inches higher. He still had yet to grow more than an inch since the day they had met, and he was beginning to fear that he would be destined to spend his life in the shadow of his now-towering best friend. She was nearly four-foot nine, while he was still stuck at four-foot and half an inch. Her hair had grown even more, and the brown part now went down to her shoulders. Despite her monstrous, pubescent appetite, she remained thin and elegant, though a spot of acne was still faintly visible on her lower left cheek.

"Okay, ready?" he asked, bringing the braid around over her left shoulder, still holding it up, and bringing the orchid up near her left ear. Both ghosts nodded.

"Ready." they confirmed.

"Right; smile, H.C.!" he swiftly tucked the flower behind her ear and dropped the braid at the same time, before bringing his now orchid-less hand behind her as fast as he could while letting the hand that had held her braid rest on her shoulder. At the same time, there was a faint click, and the orchid began to whither and blacken. The braid flowers that touched her skin did the same, and Martin felt a chill run up his spine. Like usual, he forced it down. For a moment, he thought he head a crackle in the bushes some distance away, but he dismissed it as his nerves playing tricks on him again.

"Well? How is it?" Heather pressed after a brief moment of strained silence.

"See for yourself." her ghost said, parting his shell and projecting the picture. She sat with her legs crossed, on the bench, smiling, flowers in her hair, Martin right behind her, the blue sky and a partial bit of the Traveler just visible in the distance behind them. The two of them grinned at each other.

"Perfect." they agreed in unison.

"Perfect?" a breathless voice echoed. They both froze as a figure stepped out into the light from the hall tunnel that lead into the courtyard. "You...you're a-some kind of...thing. A monster of some sort, you...you did...that...?"

It was another boy about their age, tall and well-muscled, with short, dark brown hair, and icy gray-blue eyes. He wore a dark blue tunic and black shorts that went down a little past his knees, with tan sneakers and a pair of finger-less gloves as if he'd been lifting weights. He was certainly sweaty and breathless-looking enough to have been working out. He stared at them with a mixed look of shock, confusion, fear, and rage.

Martin felt like the void had opened up below him and swallowed him whole. _"Keep Heather a secret."_

That was what he'd been told constantly for the past two years of his life. _"Keep her secret. Keep her safe. Keep her from falling into the wrong hands."_

And now, he'd failed that task. This boy would tell someone. And that someone would tell someone else, and then they would tell someone else, until the whole Tower knew about Heather, and Guardians came busting down their doors to take her away to who-knows-where for who-knows-what faction. _I'm a failure!_

"Please! Don't tell anyone! I'd never hurt anyone, I swear!" Heather stood bolt upright, begging. The boy backed away suddenly as she got up, as if afraid she could reach him all the way over there. "I didn't ask to be like this!"

"You're some kind of freak!" he spat angrily, backing up in a defensive position. "You were always a freak, but you're really an abomination, mutt!"

"Hey! Watch what you're saying! Heather's not a mutt; she's a person, just like us!" Martin flared up indignantly. There was no way he was letting this kid talk to his best friend that way! No matter what she might be, or what dark powers she harbored.

"YOU SHOULD DIE! Before you kill someone! And you should die with her!" the boy screamed. Shell-shocked, the two other children just stood there, staring, as he whirled around back the way he came...

...only to run face-first into the chest of an incoming Hunter.

Halting with an _omf_ , he looked up at the figure, before pointing at Heather and Martin and screaming.

"She's a monster!" he yelled. The Hunter jumped back a little, surprised, and Martin wished the void would come and swallow him, him and Heather both. That way, they would at least be away from this place when everything started going wrong for majorly real. "She killed those flowers just by touching them! I saw it!"

The shadowy Hunter turned to look at his companion, whom Martin only just now noticed. He hunched his shoulders, pressing his elbows to his sides and wishing he could disappear. Heather was shaking, and Westley floated close to her head comfortingly. The dead flowers were still in her hair, and Martin reached up to pull the orchid out, letting it's withered shape fall to the ground.

"Well, is it true? He saw you do this?" the Hunter the boy had run into questioned, stepping out of the shadows and into the light much like how the boy had moments before. His companion followed, and Martin was both shocked and relieved to see the faces of both Tevis and Cayde revealed by the sunlight. He let out the breath he'd been holding, feeling like he was actually going to melt into jelly right then and there.

"Yes, Tevis." Heather answered guiltily, looking at the ground and fidgeting with her dress, though she, too, seemed to immensely grateful that their childhood role models had been the ones the boy had run into first. Tevis was looking down on them severely, and Cayde didn't look too happy that the secret was out, either. _You know what? I think I want the void to come and swallow me again._

"Why where you risking being seen?" Cayde asked repremandingly.

"We just wanted a flower picture!" Martin blurted, before immediately trying to sink into his shoulders again as their sharp gazes turned to fix on him, pinning him to the ground. He muttered his next words, becoming more and more afraid of talking, looking at the ground. "You know...for spring...everyone else's got a few..."

He could feel Tevis's eyes narrowing in at him. He could only imagine how disappointed in them he was for taking such a risk.

"Well, that's understandable." Cayde spoke up matter-of-factly. Martin didn't look up, but a tiny flicker of hope lit inside him. Maybe they wouldn't get punished when their mother found out, if Cayde stood as an advocate for their decision.

"What?" the boy said, confused, the triumphant expression vanishing from his face as he realized the Guardians he'd found not only knew about her, they weren't doing anything to stop or contain her. He turned to run back to the tunnel, but Cayde held out a hand to stop him.

"Hold on just a second there, kid." he told him, before looking back at Martin and Heather. "Tell me again, though; how many times did we stress the need for secrecy?"

Martin quickly did the math in his head.

"Five hundred and seven times, sir." He answered shamefully, turning his gaze back to his feel and kicking at the grass.

"Er, you actually kept count?" Tevis asked awkwardly.

"Yeah. But we really wanted a picture!" he put on his best pouty face, and, head still down, he looked up at them in a way that made his eyes hurt, and he felt them begin to water. Their figures, as such, were blurred, both by the tears and the fact he was looking over the rims of his glasses. It was "the puppy face", and Martin had become an expert at it. So far, it had lessened several punishments for pranks, and even gotten them out of a few.

"Oh, gosh." Tevis exclaimed. _Yes!_ He hissed inwardly triumphantly. Cayde, Tevis, and Brask had yet to experience "the look"; they had no idea what they were up against. For the coup de' gras, he let out a tiny whimper.

"Good grief, where'd he learn to do that?" Cayde muttered. Louder, he spoke again. "Okay, fine; we won't tell your mom!"

"We won't?" Tevis asked. Cayde gestured to Martin exasperatedly as a tear slid down his cheek.

"Can you say 'no' to that face?" he exclaimed as Martin let his bottom lip quiver. Tevis looked down doubtfully at him, looking conflicted, and Martin struggled to step up his game even farther.

"But-but, she's a monster! You can't just let her wonder around the Tower! Y-you're Guardians; you're supposed to protect us from the monsters!" the unnamed boy whimpered. Beside him, Martin felt Heather flinch. What a jerk! He backed out of "puppy face" mode, blinking ears out of his eyes, and was about to say something clever back at him, but Tevis beat him to the punch.

"Now you listen here." He told the other child, crouching with his hands on his knees to get to eye level with the boy. "Our job is to protect all of you from the monsters. But monsters aren't monsters because of what they can do; monsters are monsters because of what they do do."

Heather let out a tiny snicker and whispered through the side of her mouth."He said 'do-do.'"

"Heather here has lived in the Tower for two years without any incident." Cayde added. Again, Martin felt Heather flinch, but this time at the lie. What had happened to her previous caretaker still rung fresh in all of their minds. "She's been kept a secret to protect her from the monsters; the monsters that want her to become a monster as well. She's never hurt anybody, and never will. And if you know what's good for you, you'll walk away from this kid, and you won't tell anybody."

"Oh, yeah!?" the boy puffed out his chest defiantly, glaring between the two of them."And how're you gonna stop me?"

"Because, if you tell anyone, the monsters will want you, too." Tevis told him warningly. The boy immediately shrank, paling. "Think about it; they'll think you're too important. They'll decide to take you, too, to keep you from telling anybody else. And then everybody will be in trouble. You want that? You understand? Telling about her puts the Tower in danger."

"You can go now. Go calm yourself down, and never tell anybody." Cayde added pointedly. "Because if you do...bad stuff will happen. Bad stuff that's worse than what she is. A lot worse."

Shaking, the boy nodded, whimpering, and ran between the two Hunters through the tunnel.

"Hey!" Tevis shouted after him, turning. "What's your name?"

"Jimmy Flint!" came the fearful reply as the voice and footfalls faded. Cayde and Tevis turned to face the remaining children, and Martin felt guilt and remorse beginning to pound through him once more.

"You'd better be glad it was us and not Brask. He'd be raging right now." Cayde said after a short silence. Martin glanced up again, curious. Brask had never seemed to have short temper. But, then again, he'd been stuck in the wild with no one but Cayde and Tevis for company for over a year now. Perhaps his apprentices had finally worn him thin.

"Yeah," Tevis snickered, before putting on a husky voice, puffing out his chest, and planting his fists at his hips," 'I'm Andal Brask, and what I say, goes. No farting. No burping. No flirting with Tirtha when you can be practicing battle moves that have been second nature to you for years. And no making cheap impressions of my voice, because that's not what I sound like, Tevis.'"

Cayde snorted with amusement, and Martin couldn't resist laughing. Neither could Heather. Cayde and Tevis always knew how to make things look brighter. He wished he could do that; fix everything with a single joke. But he couldn't. For the life of him, he couldn't. That was all Heather and Cayde and Tevis and everyone else, but not him. Nobody got his quantum theory jokes, or his friction puns. And even if they did, they thought he was weird for making them all the time. Like he was too smart, too much of a scientist for his age.

Too much of a nerdy Warlock-to-be.

Heather was really the only person other than their mother he really talked to, with the much-admired Hunter "Golden Trio" out of the Tower and completely absent since their first departure on the day the Queen came. Martin blinked at the sudden realization of just who was standing before them, and he gripped either side of his head, jumping up and down.

"Ooo, oo, oo! You're back! I can't believe it's you!" he exclaimed. Heather seemed to register this as well, and she squealed, jumping, as the two Hunters grinned, soaking up the attention. Heather made a motion as if pulling a sword from a side sheath, and Martin, quickly catching on, copied the gesture, the two of them grinning at each other. Cayde and Tevis had approximately six seconds to look surprised.

"Chaaaarge!" Heather cried, running at them with her "sword" raised. Martin took up her battle cry and pose, and the two of them rushed the Hunter duo. Cayde collapsed dramatically as Heather tackled him, whilst Tevis crouched with his arms over his head, cringing.

"Please don't hurt me!" he whimpered pathetically as Martin beat him with his invisible sword. Meanwhile, Heather plunged hers into Cayde's chest, and he flopped around in a dramatic death throw before going still as she shouted.

"HONOR. HAS BEEN. RESTORED!" she cried victoriously.

* * *

Avin had been shocked to wake up. To be told he was dead, but alive once more. His Ghost had been very gentle about it. And now, he was getting a tour of the Tower, where he would live and train to become a fully-fledged Guardian for the next two years.

"The fourth floor and everything below is typically reserved for Guardians and their families. Children aren't typically allowed up to the top floor except on special occasions, such as fireteam send-offs, exhibitions on Guardian powers, school tours of the Vanguard inner-workings; stuff like that." Jarvis explained to him. He was the Hunter Vanguard, and Vanguard commander.

"HONOR. HAS BEEN. RESTORED!" a victorious, high-pitched cry split the air. Both of them jumped, and backtracked to the wide, open hall they had just passed the entrance of. Through it, they could see two Guardians; Hunters, judging by their cloaks, and they were being assaulted by invisible weaponry.

A tall young teenager had stabbed the exo through the chest with an invisible blade, and a smaller boy was apparently beating the exo's cowering companion with an invisible club.

"Uhh..." Avin started, though lost for words.

"And this is where I introduce you to what we call 'normal' around here." Jarvis told him. He placed his hands on his shoulders, and turned the new Hunter requite away and back on the track they were headed on. "Moving along..."

* * *

"So, what have you guys been doing?" Martin asked as him and Heather followed the two Hunters down a less occupied hall. Tevis had said that they didn't want to go anywhere crowded or announce their return just yet; to give themselves time to re-adjust to civilization, which made a good deal of sense.

"It'll be easy enough to blend in for a while, at least; we've learned a lot about sneaking about in the last year." Tevis had told them.

"Well, mostly we've been exploring. Trying to find out which planet we like the most, you know?" Cayde answered. "I'm liking Venus so far."

"I'm quite taken with Deimos, myself." Tevis announced. Cayde gave him a look.

"Barren rock and old outposts? Dude, it's practically the moon with no hive. There aren't even cabal or vex there. It's just rocks and dust. That is literally the most boring place in the system." the exo tried to reason in a voice that clearly said they had had this argument before.

"Exactly. It's quite peacful, and it was perfect for-" he broke of, glanceing at the two children.

"Yeeeeeeeees?" Heather inquired, batting her eyes charmingly. Martin warmed up his facial muscles, in case the puppy face was needed again. The two hunters stopped, shareing a look.

"What do you think, Cayde? Do you think we should show them before Brask breaks the news to Jarvis?" the indecisive hunter asked. Over the time they'd known him, Tevis had never really seemed to prefer one form of light over the other; he was constantly switching between bladedancer and gunslinger. He certainly wasn't a career in either profession.

"Hmmm. There's no rule that says we have to confirm to the Vanguard whenever one crops up in order to use it officially. Brask was just being uptight, you know how he gets." the bladedancer said, shrugging. Tevis looked down at them, grinning.

"Yeah, we'll show you. But, keep it quiet until brask confirms it with Jarvis." the green-eyed awoken urged, continueing to walk, leading them into a small courtyard.

"Yeah. Aparently, whenever a Guardian achieves that level of mastrery, we have to report and confirm it." Cayde told them, obviously distaseful of rule. Heather looked like she might explode.

"OH MY GOSH WHAT IS IT JUST SHOW US WHAT IS IT BEFORE I EXPLODE!" she screeched, jumping up and down.

Leaping to the side, away from the other three, Tevis, held out his left hand.

"BOO-YAH!" he announced, a shining bow materializing in his hand. An arrow of pure void light appearing between his right fingers, and he put it to the string, pulled back, and let it fly. Martin jumped giddily, and Heather squealed excitedly.

 _A Dusk Bow! He's become a nightstalker!_ Nightstalkers were rare; even rarer than stormcallers and sunbreakers. Sunbreakers were outcasts from the city(though there were a few exceptions), and stormcallers... he fought back a shudder. It took a lot of courage to face an arc storm, let alone meditate in the middle of one.

With lightning and wind all around you. Thunder so loud, you couldn't hear yourself think. The center of chaos...the center of power... limitless _power_...

Like you were the eye of the storm...

A pained screech interuppted his trance-like thoughts. Everyone jumped, and Heather flinched, pulling a hand up to brush her cheek where a spark of static arced over to her from Martin. She stepped away from him instinctively.

"LAAAAAARSSEEEEEN!"

Tevis pulled his bow close, hands to his mouth, and, from the hallway his arrow had flown down, limped none other than Andal Brask himself.

"Oh, dear." he exclaimed, trying to hide the bow(unsuccessfully) behind his back. It was clear that the nightstalker had, as of yet, master teathering, as rather than dissapateing on impact and pinning Brask to the hallway, the dusk arrow had planted itself firmly in the gunslinger's knee; and didn't seem to be going away any time soon.

Both he and Heather pulled 'that's gotta hurt' faces, and Martin sucked in air through his teeth. _He took an arrow to the knee!_ It was actually a term hunters used, meaning 'getting married'. Not that Guardians stayed crippled for long; the light made it so that even a spinal cord injury could be recovered from in as little as three years.

So the term was rather quite redundant.

But that didn't stop Brask from looking completely livid. It didn't help that Cayde was snickering, and Tevis didn't actually look all that sorry.

"You... little..." their former mentor was beside himself, from both pain and rage. Heather was giggling, and even Martin had to admit; it _was_ a _bit_ funny.

"Er...sorry?" the offending awoken tried.

"GRAAAAAAAH!" to their suprise, Brask launched himself forwards, lunging at the two hunters with impressive speed despite his injury. Tevis seemed to go white for a moment, before taking off back the way they had come.

"Gha! Run for it!" he exclaimed, grabbing Cayde by the shoulder, the two of them running off with Andal Brask hot in pursuit.

"It's not our fault you took an arrow to the knee! So, who's the lucky lady?" Cayde called over his shoulder at the human. Brask tore right past Martin and Heather, seeming to ignor them in favor of chacing his prey, Heather breaking up with laughter, and Martin struggling not to, as knee injuries were not supposed to be funny.

But he couldn't help it. Just like he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Brask had noticed Heather's attire; according to the two younger Guardians, he would not have been as forgiving as they were for risking such amount of skin exposure as a dress.

 _It's not fair!_ He thought childishly, mentally stomping his foot. The people who had done this to Heather had not only taken her old life; they haunted her new one as well. There had to be some way to cure her deathtouch; there just _had_ to!

 _I'll do it._ he promised silently, looking at his friend. _One day, I promise, Heather Chancellor; I will cure you._

It wasn't until later that night, as he crawled into bed, that his thoughts returned to the boy named Jimmy Flint.

 **Okay, so, Tevis has his bow, Brask is a beast, we meet who will become the jerk of the ages, surpassing even Uldren in cruelty, and Martin makes a promise he might not be able to keep.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: A cow? If you pull that off, you will be my hero. Personally...I want to find a way to get a whole bunch of people on board with flash mobbing the chicken dance.**

 **Writers Pen 77: Simple... but evil. I like it.**

 **Order and Chaos: Well, for the life-chosen, they cannot be taken either, because of their light. Light keeps Guardians from being taken; that's the fanon fact for this fic. But there will be limitations; particularly for the revived Guardians, and we'll get into that later on. For Petra... later, there will be a short backstory mentioned where she faked her age to get into the Corsairs and avenge her siblings during the wars.**

 **jsm1978:Personally, I never got into Ghost Rider. Don't know much about it. Suppose I'm about to, though.**

 **Jimmy Fishchips: Glad to hear you like it! Petra isn't emmisary yet; just an important war hero at this point, renouned for tactical genius, and all that. This is before she loses her eye and kills those guardians by accident. She's merely at the Tower because, as she says in-game, her assualt on the Silent Fang is "the only reason they won".**

 **Okay, so I guess it's close enough to the school year that I should start posting again. ETA for next Heartbusters update is a while though; this is my senior year, so prepare yourself for the possibility of month-long waits. And I'm doing a co-op Wings of Fire fic. I promise you all, once I graduate, there will be more updates.**

 **After I enjoy at least a week of expirianceing a freedom I haven't known since the age fo four.**

 **Next Time: Martin is ill, Brask has a bad week, and Heather makes a very big choice.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	5. 15

**"She leaves the unworthy before they fall."-Lucky Raspberry**

It was no secret that Heather Chancellor wanted to be a Titan. She gushed on and on every day leading up to the exhibition about the importance of marks, the dynamics of feild plating, and the raw, destructive power she would wield behind her fists by the time she was a full-fledged Guardian.

Martin was certain he was going to be a Warlock; frankly, he was a little excited. Maybe he would make a new friend among the ranks of children, some of whom _had_ to be as smart as him, at _least_. Well, he hoped. He'd yet to hear of another 14-year-old with an IQ of 150 and climbing.

The exhibition also fell on his birthday as well, which he was also looking forwards to.

Which was why he was so downcast that very day, as he was delirious with a raging fever of 104. Birding was considering taking him to the infirmary. His throat felt swollen, and dry as a desert, and whenever he was carried back to wakefullness, his eyes hurt even when closed, so he was constantly crying, and pain thrummed throughout his entire being. Even his hair seemed to hurt, and he kept throwing up.

So, Heather went off with the other children by herself, though under protest as she was reluctant to leave Martin's bedside. _Worst birthday_ ever _._ He thought dizzily as his foster mother pressed a cool rag to his forehead. Her red hair and sharp facial features were blurred by his lack of glasses, and near impossible to make out with his eyes watering like they were.

"There, now." she was saying softly, running her fingers through his sweat-matted hair. "It'll be over soon."

 _No it won't._ He countered ruefully in his mind. _We both know it won't._

He'd been quite a sickly child when he was younger. His birth mother had always blamed herself for some reason; something about 'facing her storm' while she was pregnant.

He'd assumed what she had meant was that she'd become a stormcaller while expecting. Was the final stage of that process, of compelling a warlock's light to twist in a way it normally didn't, dangerous in some way that could harm an unborn child of only a couple weeks old?

This thought was lost in all the others as delirium swarmed his mind and muffled everything. He thought he heard a faint banging outside his room, and his foster mother left his side for a few moments, a few moments in which he had time to grow unbearably thirsty.

He pried his eyes open, and managed to turn his head towards his bedside table, on which a glass and a pitcher of water sat. He could barely make out their bleary forms, and he reached for them weakly.

The door to his room opened, and a new, unfamiliar figure entered.

"...excite him, _please_? He need his sleep. I'm... considering taking him to Terra." his foster mother's low, soft voice seemed like a distant scream. The other figure shifted in what he assumed to be a nod, and they stepped further into the room.

"Well, don't you look like a right mess?" the voice of Andal Brask observed. "Here, let me help with that..."

The hunter poured out the water after setting something on the floor, and helped the feeble-bodied warlock-to-be sit up and drink. Martin shuddered as he drank greedily, each swallow raking pain through his neck, though he supposed his mouth was now moist enough to talk, as least a little.

"Hi." his voice rasped silently, stolen away by the fever. "Sorry to hear about the dare."

He could easily imagine Brask's eyes narrowed as he recollected the day Jarvis had hi-tailed it.

 _"AND GOOD RIDANCE TO YA!" Andal Brask threw the egg at Jarvis's dusty, Regulus-class ship as it's engines powered up, and Cayde and Tevis let their own ammo fly as well. To his surprise, one was a pumpkin instead of an egg, and he looked at Cayde, who jerked a thumb in Tevis's direction._

 _"Who needs eggs when you can throw vegetables?" the nightstalker reasoned as the ship blasted out of the hangar. Cayde patted Brask on the back._

 _"Don't worry, old man; you'll get the wild back. It was just... really nasty bad luck that you lost." he comforted. Brask pounded his fist on the railing, the other hand clutching it to hard, he thought he might break something._

 _Tevis came around on his other side, and clapped a hand on his shoulder as the human's dark blue eyes glared after Jarvis's ship ruefully. As if this day couldn't possibly get even worse; he'd woken up to find his favorite chest armor was gone. Him, Cayde, and Tevis had spent a majority of their time looking for it when Jarvis had found them and challenged him to the vangaurd dare._

 _"Maybe if you'd been wearing the Rasberry..." Cayde trailed off._

 _"The Lucky Raspberry" they liked to call it, for Brask's habit of blowing raspberries at his enemies every time he had a particularly close call. For some reason, whenever he wore that thing, he seemed untouchable._

 _"Yeah." he agreed ruefully. Why, dear Traveller?! Why!?_

"Nah, don't you worry about me. I'll live; I'm much better than Jarvis. I just didn't have my lucky raspberry on me, that's all." Martin was assaulted by the sudden image of Brask wearing a large and un-manly raspberry costume. He laughed involuntarily, but this sent him into a fit of coughing and pain-filled spasms as his wretched throat protested.

Brask helped him sit up, and put the water cup to his lips again. The last thing he wanted to do was swallow, which would bring more pain, but he had to. Shuddering, he forced the liquid down. The newest addition to the vanguard lowered him back down onto the pillows, and he closed his watering eyes, trying to wish the ache away... or perhaps thinking that death was prefferable to wakefulness at this point.

"Now, it does come with certain perks. Like, say, acess to everybodies files. I was messing about, looked you up just for fun. And I found something crazy. Like, 'it's a small world', kind of crazy. Feeling up to hearing 'bout it?" the hunter asked. Martin nodded weakly; even in his sickly state, he couldn't resist his curiosity.

"Now, during the Battle of Twilight Gap, there was a point, near the wall, where I nearly lost Cayde and Tevis. The idiots. Told 'em to stay behind; they'd only been around a month or so. But, anyway, this House of Kings baron pinned me. Was make'n me watch his crew kill those two numbskulls."

"Then, out of the blue, a fellow hunter comes along, down from Blackpeak(I reckoned he was part of the response team to the avalanch the Iron Wolves caused, rest their souls), and he shoots two of those vandals, and throws his knife in through the baron's neck. Owed him a dept of gratitude. Oh, and two nuckle-heads. After the battle, I still had his knife(I'd lost my own in a previous encounter), and I looked for him, to give it back."

"But I never did find him. Then what should I find, but your parents files attatched to your own, and it turns out that _that_ hunter...was _your_ father, Martin." the blurred shape continued.

"Wha...?" he managed confusedly. His father... had saved Brask shortly before dying? And Cayde and Tevis, too!? He barely managed to force the horrid memories back. He didn't know why he kept them locked, even from himself. Self-applied amnesia sometimes happened when you saw something so horrific, you couldn't bare to remember it.

The Battle of Twilight Gap had lasted over a week. He'd seen plenty of people die. By logic, he'd deduced that his self-applied amnisia was caused not by his father's death itself, but something assosiated with it; perhaps, something he'd seen while his father was dying? But memories could also be sometimes altered by PTSD, and-

Flames and screams and grins. He forced the memories back.

"S...small world..." he rasped, voice cracking in his throat. He wanted to stay awake. To ask more questions, like...he didn't know like. He wanted to ponder it some more. But unconsciousness was tugging at his mind, trying to drown him, and he was having trouble breathing. He felt something wrapped in wire string pressed into his hand, Brask closing his smaller fingers around it.

"I thought... seeing as this young man is now turning fifteen... _this_ , might be returned to it's rightful owner." Martin opened his eyes, and lifted his hand weakly... to look at his father's knife.

It was long, and it was in a leather sheath with the hunter crest stitched on one side. The handle was wrapped in wire-like string for grip, and it occured to him that he'd seen this knife multiple times on Brask's person, though on his lower thigh rather than his hip. It had a bladedancer's design to it, long and slightly curved. The letters "H.A." were etched in the top of the handle. _Howard Anton. Howard Carlton Anton._

This...this was his father's knife. It truely was. He could remember it now, always on his dad's belt. Why had he never recognized it before? The tears streaming down his face... he hadn't the faintest clue as to wether or not they were from the fever now.

"Now, while we're on the subject of birthday presents... happy birthday." the hunter chirped, suddenly less solem and setting something pure white down on Martin's stomach. The white thing moved, and he could feel little points of pressure where it's paws were. A tiny mewl sounded through the air, and the previously unknown-to-be-there kitten made it's presence known in voice.

Martin gawked. _A cat. He got me a cat! A_ kitten _! A_ cat _!_

"This little gu-er, girl, is from Tevis. He said you'd mentioned liking cats.I'd reckon you and Heather'll be careful enough not to get her killed by accident. Cayde says he owes you a chocolate-dipped waffle pastry, seeing as you can't hold anything down at the moment." Martin just blinked at him, mouth hanging open so as to allow for more air to flow to his lungs. Throughout this particular illness, he was beginning to find it more and more difficult to breath.

"T-thanks." it was more than he deserved. Maybe they were just being so good to him because he was sick. He had, over the last seven months, had little luck in finding a cure for Heather.

The kitten crept up his chest, and he felt her tiny nose poke at his chin as she sniffed him. He felt a rough, sharp tongue lick his neck, as if the tiny creature knew it's new owner was sick and his throat was sore. For some reason, it was oddly soothing.

But it didn't help with his breathing. The kitten moved off his chest, and sat next to his head, and he could imagine Brask wearing a look of mild amusement as he watched. However, the hunter probably switched to a look of concern as Martin tried to express his struggle and failed.

"Hey, hey-BIRDING!" he yelled as Martin started to choke. It sounded like a close-range thunderclap. "Skunk!"

"On it! Terra's been notified, they're on their way." came the voice of Brask's ghost. Martin couldn't breath. He could feel Brask holding him up, he thought he heard his foster mother burst into the room.

For some reason, the last piece of reality to fade from him, was the feeling of kitten fur against his left arm.

* * *

Heather burst into her room and slammed the door. _Stupid, horrible, Jimmy Flint!_

She threw herself onto her bed, burying her face into her pillows. Tears soaked her face. The words of the titan-to-be jerkface teenager still rung fresh in her mind.

 _"Good, ridance, I say. He always was useless in class." he sneered as Heather was taken aside by Brask and told what had happened to Martin._

 _She rounded on Flint, him and his small gang of 'titans' a little ways off._

 _"Martin's not useless! He's got ten times the brain you do! At least he knows what 2+2 is!" she accused, fists on her hips. She felt a hand on her shoulder._

 _"Heather." Brask warned._

 _"It's not like you could make warlock, either, mutt. I don't want you in my class. You stay away from the titans, scumy half-breed... or you know what'll come out. I'm not afraid of your little hunter pets."_

 _That_ was when the punches came out, despite Brask's attempts to prevent a fight. She now sported a stinging jaw, she'd been threatened against becoming a titan, and Martin was so ill, he'd been hospitalized. _On his birthday_.

At least Jimmy Flint had walked away with a black eye.

What was, a week ago, supposed to be the best day ever, was now officially the _worst_ day ever. She'd felt so elated, watching the titan and hunter siblings spar, showing off their skills. The shear strength and power behind the titan's fists, the way he'd thrown his opponent at least fifteen feet.

Was she willing, to give that up just to keep her secret? Was she willing, to toss away her dreams because of Flint's dumb threat? It would be easy for him to blab to the vanguard. Even with Brask, Cayde, Tevis and her foster mother along with Martin, there was no way Commander Zavala would accept her as a titan; or as a Guardian, for that matter.

 _"Men with no reason, can't be reasoned with. Otherwise, Cayde would be a hobo, and Tevis wouldn't be missing a toe."_ Brask had told her once. _"A lot of people wouldn't know reason if it walked up and shook their hand."_

 _We can count Jimmy Flint as one of them._ She concluded as she tried, unsuccessfully, to calm herself down. Tears soaked her pillow. Martin _wasn't_ going to die. He was too awesome and smart and totally clueless to die. Clueless, because he _clearly_ hadn't notice Cari Glacon staring dreamily at him from across the classroom for the past three years.

Nor Mary May, who had asked him a few months ago if he wanted to go to the Festival of the Lost with her, only for him to decline, stating he was going with Heather again, and looking confused when the other girl had run off, bursting into tears.

Not to mention Alice Underwood. Heather shuddered, unable to supress a snort of amusement. _That one_ had gotten her revenge, putting worms in his sandwich while under the guise of asking him out for swimming again.

Martin was a heartbreaker; and didn't even realize it! It was as if he had zero understanding of girls. Which was understandable, because Heather didn't really act like a lady. Who wanted to sit and eat crumpets and drink tea, when you could be causing a nuclear explosion?

Not her, was who! (not that she'd caused any explosions lately... at least, not intentionally)

She was _ruined_. All she wanted to do was protect the city. To punch things to death, and watch with mild amusement at dregs ran directly at her, only to slam head-first into her ward of dawn and fall flat on their backs while she pointed and laughed.

But now, it looked as if that may never happen. She took in another shuddering sob. She kept seeing the sparing fight in her head. She could remember every blow, how awesome the titan had been. Though... it was hard _not_ to admire how quick the hunter had been in dodging the blows, now that she thought about it.

She'd always liked hunters; it was a given, seeing who the family friends were. Aside from Tevis's dusk bow mishap a few months ago, she'd never seen a hunter in action before today.

She pictured the fight again, though in a new light. Swift, fluid blows, dodgeing and striking like a viper. Was that how Brask, Cayde, and Tevis fought? Like a fast-flowing river, moveing like water around their opponents, striking swiftly, and moveing even swifter for the kill? With the precision of sniper rifle in a hand weilding a blade?

She shivered slightly, though this time not from rage or grief, but from the chill of anticipation that had just shot down her spine involuntarily. She remembered every time her favorite guardians had mentioned the wilderness and their adventures outside the city; the way a strange kind of longing would enter their gazes if they stayed in the City for too long. The wild-longing that all hunters developed.

The urge to survive-no, _thrive_ \- in that untamable place beyond the walls. To rediscover what had been lost. To strike from the shadows, to kill from afar, to _become_ lightning...

That's when she felt it. A new feeling, riseing up in her chest. It was small, like a barely-lit candle, but it was there. She'd felt it before, after a camping trip to a patch of wilderness in the wall gardens. Now, however, she could put a name to it. Now, she knew exactly what it was.

It was a sign.

She lifted her head, looking at the wall, blinking tears out of her eyes and trying to regain her breath.

It was a _sign_.

Now knowing what to do, she felt calmer. Martin _would not_ die. She _would_ be a guardian. Because she knew what this sign meant.

 _I'm a hunter._ Or, would be one, rather. _I'm a hunter!_

Why _else_ would she feel the wild-longing?

She rolled over, and slide off her bed. She had to find Brask. _Maybe_ she would apologize for her behavior. But mostly... she had to tell him. The students didn't put their names down on the guardian training registry for a couple of weeks, but she felt like, knowing her... condition, Brask should have a little warning ahead of time.

 _But... what if he doesn't want me in_ his _class either?_

For some reason, this thought didn't send her into a whirlwind of panic. She felt calm, icily calm, as she made her way out of her room, through the living space, and out the door. She found Brask much faster than she had expecting.

Fast as in she slammed into him her first step out the door. She backed up as the unfortunate vanguard looked down on her with questioning blue eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, obviously taking note of her tear-streaked face and red eyes.

"Brask? Can I be a hunter, please?" It was obviously not the response he had been expecting.

* * *

 **Annnnd, dun dun duuuuuh. Martin's in critical condition, and we've now explored his rather sickly childhood a little bit. Ol' Silverhawk has found her true calling, and poor Brask is stuck in the Tower.**

 **Pretty much, this is a "everybody's have'n a bad day" chapter. But, enjoy it, because next chapter is where the chaos begins; and not the good kind either. After all... as much as I love Brask, he's gotta go at some point, him and Tevis both. I promised myself I wouldn't get attached to them...**

 **And I've failed. _Miserably_. I've written both their death scenes, and I spent the entire time weeping buckets, especially since I did what I do with Tevis in this next chapter... I'm starting to thing it was a mistake, as Amberstar yelled at me for making her cry when she read it. We now both hate Bungie for killing off Tevis.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: He is SUCH a ladies man. Though, not for long, due to something happening int he next chapter... And we're going to be seeing a lot of the three in these next few chapters, which will make you laugh and cry at the same time.**

 **Guest: Not creepy; just convenient.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: I couldn't resist. Martin, I dare say, is still cute enough in his adult years to use the puppy face. I'm currently trying to think of a situation where he can use it on Petra or Variks. Petra would probably be made of iron, but Variks has never spent time building up a resistance to cute; I doubt he would last five seconds. MOOOOOOOOO!**

 **Jimmy Fishchips: I don't follow wrestling. Martin is _not_ a stormcaller, he won't be for a very VERY long time. It's his light compelling him to these odd thoughts; as as been stated before, Martin's powers are somewhat stunted, but here I mention him being exposed to arc light at a VERY young age. In my head, this is why he is stunted, and why he's had those weird thoughts upon seeing Tevis's bow, which is to Hunters what arc light is to Warlocks. He isn't power-hungry; his light is merely reacting to something that it's had a direct link to since before he was even born. That makes no sense whatsoever, does it? It'll be further explained later on in the series, lets just leave it there.**

 **Anyway, big changes starting next chapter for the hunters three. Some good, some bad, some in the middle. There will be much humor, of course. We've already had Cayde PoV, in chapter 2. Now it's Brask's turn; I kind of want all three of them to have a PoV in this fic.**

 **I just realized; this is a fic about Silverhawk, but this is the first time in a while I've written in her PoV.**

 **Next Time: Silverhawk earns her vanity name, Tevis betrays the team, Shiro-4 takes a nice, relaxing coffee bath, and the catalyst for the inevitable happens...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	6. A Hunter's Vow: Part 1

**Quote of the Day: "Sometimes the bad things overshadow the good things; but that doesn't necessarily mean that the good things are lessened by the bad."(or something like that)- The Eleventh Doctor**

* * *

Cayde and Tevis had been absolutely ecstatic since Heather's decision. So much so, that Tevis had gone and done the unthinkable roughly a month later.

 _The Nightstalker bent down and plucked a long strand of grass as Cayde chattered excitedly to Brask about Heather. Tirtha was nearby, near the railing with a few of her friends. Brask observed with one eyebrow raised as the awoken tied the blade of grass in a loop with a determined expression on his face, and as Cayde kept talking, blissfully unaware of what his best friend was currently doing._

 _The human's eyes widened further as his protégée marched over to his girlfriend with a purpose, took one of her hands, and got down on one knee. Brask couldn't hear was being said, but it was obvious what Tevis was doing._

 _His jaw dropped to the ground._

 _"So, maybe we can teach her that, and... hey, Andal, what's that look for?" he waved one hand in front of his mentor's face. "Hello, earth to Brask, come in Brask."_

 _He gripped the exo's chin with one hand, and turned his head in the direction of the awoken couple who were now kissing. The grass loop was tied around Tirtha's finger._

 _"So? He snogs her all the time."_

 _"He asked..._ the question _." Cayde's jaw dropped as well, as Tirtha's friends, smiling knowingly, walked away to leave the couple. Shiro-4 arrived to find the two Hunters in a state of shock, staring at the third fixture to their group as he spoke to and held hands with his girlfriend, the two Hunter's jaws slack._

 _"Um... Brask, I finished those scouting reports you asked for." the vanguard did not respond. He poked him in the arm. "Uhh...Brask?"_

 _He looked around, unsure of what to do. "Look, okaaay, I'm just going to leave them on your desk, alright?" He said slowly, patting his boss on the shoulder. Feeling mischievous, he stuck a finger in his ear._

 _With a 'hmm' of dissatisfaction at the human's lack of a reaction, he continued on his way._

 _"SHE'S STOLEN HIM FROM US!" Cayde suddenly screamed after Shiro had left, and as Tevis and his new fiancé began to walk away. "THE THREE MUSKETEERS IS NO MORE! WHY, CRUEL LOVE!? WHYYYYYY!"_

 _He sank to his knees, raising his fists to the sky. "HE'S JUST A BOY!"_

 _Brask pulled him to his feet, turned him around, and slapped him in the face before gripping his shoulders again. "GET AHOLD OF YOUSELF, MAN!"_

 _Cayde gripped his shoulders, and shook the human. "I CAN'T!"_

 _Brask slapped him again. Cayde shook him once more, more violently this time. "I'M AN EXO!"_

 _"I KNOW!"_

 _"SO WHY DO YOU KEEP SLAPPING ME LIKE IT MEANS SOMETHING!?"_

 _"BECAUSE IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER!"_

 _"WHY!?"_

 _"I don't know."_

It had been five months since then, and the wedding was fast approaching.

Since then, the whole prospect of Tevis getting married was something between happiness and deep, horrible sorrow. Tevis himself...well, he was terrified, and had spent the next night after proposing in a state of shock, hugging a pillow, sitting upside-down on a couch while Cayde paced back and forth, berating him and ranting on and on about 'bros before does', until Tevis had snapped out of it and, quite suddenly, asked no-one in particular where the heck he was going to buy a tuxedo.

It didn't help he'd woken up the next morning to find his door had been egged by other women he'd dated over the years. So it was this morning that Brask had encouraged his two semi-feuding protégés to go into the wild for a little bit, sort things out, calm down, and come back to get to planning to wedding.

He himself still had mixed feelings about it all. Tirtha wasn't a Guardian; she was one of the Tower's secretaries. One of the Towers _very attractive_ secretaries, and she and Tevis had been dating between sorties into the wilderness for over a year now.

The Nightstalker was a notoriously lovesick flirt. Claimed to have been 'looking for the one' since the day he was born.

Apparently, he had finally found her. Brask had woken last night in a cold sweat from a nightmare in which he was overrun by a bunch of miniature Tevis's. He found himself hoping Tevis never had any offspring.

He stood in front of the coffee maker, cup in a grip so tight he thought it might break. He didn't hear Shiro-4's little cough behind him. He didn't feel the exo tap his shoulder.

"Brask? Brask? Hey Brask? Hey, hey Brask? Braaaask. Brask. Brask. Brask. Brask." he repeated annoyingly. The blue gaze still stared off into the distance as the human shoved his cup under the coffee maker, letting the liquid pour in. Shiro spun around leaning back against the counter on his side, supporting himself with one arm, the free fist planted at his side.

"You know, that kid of yours, the teenager your little click seems to be so fond of? I think I saw her on the line-up for the junior sparrow races. You watching? I know I am. Real season doesn't start for months; I NEED some high-speed action, you know what I'm saying?" he tried to converse. The coffee over spilled, hot liquid spilling all over Brask's hand and all over the counter. Shiro heaved a sigh, and waved a hand in front of his face.

"NIGHTMARE OF NIGHTMARES; LARSEN, DON'T HAVE KIDS!" the human suddenly screamed, throwing his hand backwards, dousing Shiro in coffee. Andal double-took.

"Sh-Shiro?" he queried in a horrified whisper to the exo, who just looked at him, eyebrow plates lowered, face dripping with coffee.

"Whatever. I don't need coffee, anyway. All I needed was a bath. Still watching that race, though." he walked away, and took a towel from the counter, putting it to his face. As he left, Brask heard him mutter under his breath.

"I swear, it's like Certech all over again." The coffee mug shattered on the floor. Memories flashed through his head. Of a night filled with thunder and lightning, soon after Heather and Martin's adoption by Birding. She had called the three hunters down because Heather was in a state and was asking for them.

At last, the broken girl told them all about the people who had taken her, had turned her into a monster; the people called _Certech_. If Shiro was watching the races... if he recognized her...

Shiro-4 wasn't a bad person. He was a faithful scout, one he always trusted to get the job done. The most he knew about Shiro's past was that he had done some guard work before being killed by a shadowy figure. Presumably, he'd been guarding something Certech.

Andal had to get down to the track.

He tore out of the room, pushing a surprised Shiro out of his way. If the exo knew what she was... he didn't know Shiro well enough to keep that secret. If he had known what Certech were doing to that poor little girl... surely, he wouldn't have partaken or agreed with it?

It didn't matter. Even if Shiro had been against what they'd been doing to Heather, even if he had been involved in it in any way, if he had worked for Certech, who was to say there weren't other Guardians who had as well? _To think, the same people who did..._ THAT _, working for the light..._

He couldn't risk a corrupt Guardian finding out she was alive. They might tell someone about her; or worse, try to kill her and cover their tracks.

He practically slammed into the people coming out of the elevator. _Have to get down, have to get there._

He punched the button several times frantically.

"Skunk!" he demanded. He'd named his ghost after a rather unfortunate incident involving a trash bin soon after Brask's revival. Tevis and Cayde, the stinky little copy-cats, had named their ghosts Skink and Skank, respectively, as an inside joke. His gray-shelled ghost emerged from his hood.

"Secure a channel to Heather's ghost." He ordered.

"Andal, she's not a Guardian. That isn't allowed." Skunk reprimanded.

"I don't care! Secure a channel, or half the Tower might know about her by daybreak tomorrow!" Skunk's shell twisted rapidly as his Guardian snapped at him, taken aback.

"Fine, on it!" he declared. Brask waited impatiently, thankful that he was the only one in the elevator at this point.

* * *

Meanwhile, down at the track, the racers were lining up, and Heather was only just realizing she'd forgotten to put her name into the race. She was down at the line, mounted, helmet on, and in a silvery race suit with black trimming. The race officials seemed to have noticed her name wasn't on the list, because one of them was approaching her right now.

"Um, Heather." Westley said, sounding worried. "Vanguard Brask is trying to reach us... on a private Guardian channel."

"Huh?" she queried, taking off her helmet. Westley materialized beside her, and she squinted as the sun glared in her eyes. She thought she could see Martin, who was recently recovered from nearly six months of on and off sickliness and missing quite a bit of weight, in the lower stands along with their foster mother. He'd been forced to wear a wool hat and scarf, as well as a set of russet winter robes, his hat and scarf purposefully knit in the colors of Gryffindor House. Their mother wasn't risking him getting ill again, though the weather was only slightly chilly.

She took her sunglasses out from her side pocket, and started trying to stylishly flick them open with a single wrist movement. Westley parted his shell, letting out a small pulse of light, before Brask's voice sounded from over the comms.

 **"Chancellor? Heather, are you there?"** he demanded. _Geeze. I wonder what's got him all riled up? Aside from the wedding, obviously._ It was still hard to think about Tevis going all gooey for a girl like that; she'd always thought he was just a general flirt, but watching him and Tirtha make goopy faces at each other was all the vomit-inducing proof she needed that he really was truly in love.

She solemnly swore never to become that... _mushy_ over a guy. Though it was kind of funny to watch Cayde and Brask mime puking whenever the couple's backs were turned.

"Wazzup. You watching the races?" she questioned, still trying-and failing- to open her glasses with one flick.

 **"Heather, listen, don't use your real name, and hide your eyes,** ** _now_** **!"** Her eldest role model urged. Now truly confused, her brows knit together, and she stopped her attempts with the glasses.

"What? Why?" she asked, a feeling of dread worming its way into her chest.

 **"Just do it! I'll explain after the race! Do it!"** he pressed. There was a sound of static as the feed cut. She felt a finger tap her shoulder. It was the race official.

"Mam, I know this is an open race, but you still need to enter your name." He tapped the clipboard in his hand.

"I have no name." she flicked her glasses open successfully, and put them on her face before facing the track with an expression of grim determination. _YES!_ She laughed internally. _I totally nailed that!_

"I'm sorry, but if you don't give a name you can't be in the race. Give a name, or get yourself and your sparrow off the tracks."

"I am legend."

"Miss, I really don't have all day."

"Mary Sue Poots."

"...That's another fake name, isn't it?"

"Right you are. I just wanna hear the announcer guy say it out loud. Give a poor, orphan girl some immature satisfaction, will you? Have a heart?"

"Fine. You will put in your real name when this is over; we are not announcing 'Miss Poots' over the intercom if you win."

"A thousand thanks, kind sir." she bent low to her sparrow in a mock bow as the race official turned, rolling his eyes, and walked away, heaving a sigh and muttering under his breath about the falling standards of the racing world. With a cocky grin, Heather, took off her glasses and put her helmet back on.

Westley de-materialized, and a blinking sensor on the inside of her helmet told her that he was in the helmet's system.

"Ready West?" she asked rhetorically.

"Yup."

"Then turn on the sensors, and crank up the dubchestral playlist. _Make me feel epic_."

"As you wish!" he chirped. Instrumental Core's _Other Worlds_ blared on in her helmet as the announcer guy began the final countdown. The best part?

The fact that the beat dropped when he said 'go'.

* * *

As the racers kicked off their sparrows in the track that ran through a section of the City's wall, Andal Brask was frantically trying to squeeze into the transport ship that went down into that sector. He ended up getting through the door at the last second, squished between two sweaty, rather large water delivery men... with the end of his cloak stuck in the door.

 _Cayde and Tevis would never let me hear the end of this one!_ Not that they needed to know his current situation ever happened. He choked on smelly air once more, coughing as another bump tugged at his cloak, making it go uncomfortably tight around his neck. One of the water men stumbled as they docked for landing, shoving him forwards violently and causing him to try to voice a choice swear word, if only he wasn't busy gasping for breath as the door opened and his cloak was released.

He burst out the door and threw himself down on a patch of grass almost immediately, thankful for land like he'd never been before.

" _LAND_! Sweet _land_!" he exclaimed, kissing the dirt and rolling in the grass briefly, before he remembered with a flash what he'd just endured those horrors for. He leapt to his feel, bristling, looked around frantically, before taking off in a random direction for roughly ten minutes until realizing that it was the wrong way and dashing back the way he had come.

By the time he actually made it to the stadium, the winners were already at the podium. _Oh, no!_ He groaned internally, horrified. Heather had won first place. She was wearing sunglasses, hiding her glowing eyes, but if she hadn't thought up an excusable alias...

* * *

The first section of the track was smooth. This was a junior race, so it didn't have most of the hazards the real sparrow tracks had on them. The track itself ran through a small section of the Last City's wall.

Heather wove around two of her opponents, putting herself in third. The inside of the wall was dark, but lit up well with small holes to let light filter in, along with bright, rectangular lamps imbedded into the ceiling.

 **"** **And miss… *sigh* miss Poots takes third from Conrad."** She giggled as he spoke the word "poots". _I am such a genius!_ She thought as she directed her sparrow over a ramp. She went flying, way over the head of the person in second. She giggled again as she heard the name "poots" spoken again.

She was directly behind the first place racer now. _Damn! He has the Frost Monster-03!_ It was a newer model Sparrow for younger racers, the fastest in its line yet. Her little R1 didn't stand a chance out-doing him in speed.

Which was why it was a good thing that the second portion of the track was twisting and turning, with multiple obstacles to weave through. _The final stretch to the finish line is straight, so I ought to be fast in this weaving part; get as far ahead of him as I can…_

They, as predicted, slowed down as they hit the weaving minefield of ramps, turns, and pillars of rock that stood as obstacles. Heather kept the peddle to the metal; her R1 may be slower than the Frost Monster-03, but the Frost Monster series had always had complaints on handling in more obstacle-oriented tracks. The R1 series built for racing, but it also built for Guardians; their Sparrows were built for dodging and quick, smooth movement with under attack. They were built to bring the Guardians home safe.

And they implemented that same maneuverability with their racing Sparrows.

Heather overshot her opponent, quickly turning to make the universal symbol of "looser" in his direction as she passed. _Let's finish this!_ She flattened herself further against her Sparrow to make herself more streamlined. She wove through the rocky pillars, and hit the side boost as an unexpected one loomed ahead of her. This action sent her right into the path of a ramp, which she went up, and soared through the air.

 _Alright, time to use Martin's trick…_

She pressed down on a button near the left handle, and her Sparrow began to corkscrew through the air. Her friend had been restless since being ill, and he had decked her Sparrow out with a new feature. He called them roll destabilizers.

"BLAZING!" she screamed as she righted herself in time to hit the ground again. She could hear the announcer freaking out over the comms. As she exited the forest of obstacles, she pressed herself as flat as she could, pushed her Sparrow as fast as it could go. Glancing behind her, she saw the frost Monster-03 gaining ground for the final stretch.

They rounded the corner. Victory was in sight. The crowd was going crazy. The Frost Monster-03 was coming up next to her…

 **"** **And miss Poots has it for the win!"**

* * *

Heather, down at the podium, was still trying to keep her head. She wasn't at all panicked or concerned about the fact she hadn't thought of an alias yet; just trying to keep from bursting out laughing at the fact that the announcer had said 'Poots' over a dozen times over the race. She'd nearly lost control of her sparrow when she'd heard 'Poots' is in for the win!'

Now however, as she accepted her trophy, a golden statuette of a hawk with it's wings folded partially around itself, she found herself facing a dire question.

"'Poots' isn't your real name, it says here on the roster." the announcer, a primarily gray exo with silver trimmings on his face. "Just who are you exactly?"

The crowd was still in an uproar at her displays of skill. She'd pulled off several spins and many other complicated passing techniques during the race, ending by crossing the finish line with a fancy 360 with a bit of a leg kick at the end, just for posterity. Filled up on soda, adrenaline, and the usual distractedness, her hyperactive mind began to make weird connections in the search for something she could use.

 _Silver trimmings...hey, my suite's silver! Did Martin just do a handstand? No, he's had trouble with just_ regular _standing recently...why is this trophy shaped like a hawk? Wow, I really want that guy's burrito. I hate burritos, so that's weird. I wonder what Brask was freaking out about anyway... hold up, silver, and a hawk. Like Nate's present. Coincidence; I think NOT._

 _Annnnnnd, none of those things are even closely related? I wonder if Cayde-_

"Miss?" the announcer shook her shoulder, and she blurted out the last thing that had been on her mind.

"Silver Hawk!" she practically screamed.

"Huh?" the announcer queried, looking confused. _Oh, boy. Did I say that out loud?_ Under normal circumstances, she would be mortified at having shouted a thing from her past so loudly. However, as always, she saw a golden opportunity...

And she took it.

Turning to the crowd, who also looked confused, she spread her arms wide.

"You call me the silver streak on the track! I... am the Silver Hawk!" she punched the air with the trophy, and the crowd erupted into cheers again. It was only the junior league... but hopefully... it would become something more.

Back up in the stands, near the entrance, Andal Brask nearly melted with relief.

* * *

Explaining the presence of former Certech employees in the Tower had not been an easy task. From Birding's overprotective glare, to Heather's uncharacteristically scared expression, to Martin's sunken features contorted with horror, he'd felt himself flinching several times.

Poor Martin, especially, he worried for. Ever since the incident in which he'd nearly stopped breathing, the teenager had been horribly sickly. Apparently, long periods of on and off hospitalization had been common in his youth, and this was his first ill period since he was eleven.

Martin had lost a considerable amount of weight in the six months since his initial fever. Sometimes he required the infirmary, sometimes he didn't, but now, at what was hopefully the end of this long trial of illness, he looked more than twice his age, face gaunt and cloths hanging of his bony frame.

It was beginning to look like he would still be fragile upon his next birthday, as, apparently, he did not heal as fast as other light-wielding people did. He wondered if he would be well enough when the time came to start his Guardian training; it was only seven months away.

 _What a strange thought; those two, becoming Guardians._ It was like a blow from a cabal fist, the realization that the two children he'd met in what seemed like another lifetime finally training to become Guardians. They were those sniveling, soaked children in the storm no more, he realized as he walked down the Hall of Guardians.

 _I wonder who they'll be, in the end?_ Martin would be a Warlock; but what kind of Warlock? Heather would be a Hunter; but what kind of a Hunter?

For one, gleaming moment, he could picture it clearly; himself, Cayde and Tevis, out in the wild, joking about and being dumb like always. But behind them bounced hyperactively an older Heather, in silver armor lined with black, a gray cloak fluttering around behind her as she dragged a Gryffindor-colored Martin behind her.

He smiled to himself. Perhaps the five of them would team up on occasion. Four Hunters vs just the one Warlock would get a little awkward after a while, they would go their separate ways, meet up some time again, and thus the cycle would continue.

Just then, a chaos outside, in the plaza, interrupted his thoughts. He thought he could hear multiple someones screaming for a med team. _What the? What's going on out there?_

Images of Twilight Gap flashed through his head. A million nightmarish scenarios played themselves out as he doubled back and rushed up the stairs.

In the full sunlight, he could see a huddle of Guardians near the cluster of three Vault Management Machines. A hunter, who was clearly a Bladedancer judging by his speed, rushed past him, likely to get at the med case that hung on the wall near the bottom of the stairs. It occurred to Andal that he himself should have grabbed the case on the way up.

But this and many other thoughts were lost in panic when he heard on of the voices rise up in desperation.

"Wake up! No! Wake up, come on!" _Cayde!?_ He rushed the huddle shoving a Warlock violently out of his way.

"Let me through!" he yelled, pushing between two titans. There was a warlock, a Sunsinger, apparently, crouched next to the two figures on the ground, trying to use her fire to heal the limp figure that lay flat on his back. It was, indeed, Cayde that had been screaming, and the sight before Andal made the world swirl around him as if the void had opened up beneath his feet.

There was a combination of blood and some sort of sickly froth trailing down his cheek from one corner of his mouth. His hair was matted to his head, and there were beads of sweat and patches of dirt on his face, combined with what appeared to be mild burns.

It was Tevis... and he wasn't breathing.

* * *

 **MEGAGASP.**

 ***cowers* Please, don't kill me!**

 **Well, now you know the mistake I made for myself; giving Tevis a family. Though I suppose the hunters three count as kind of a family; him and Cayde might as well be brothers, and Brask is a kind of a father/big brother figure to the two of them. Before you ask; no, Shiro is not a bad guy. He doesn't even remember working for Certech. Though, there is a quick one-shot I was thinking of writing with him, about what happened with his death.**

 **it's really depressing.**

 **AND OH MY GOSH RISE OF IRON IT'S HERE IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL I LOVE IT I LOVE IT ILOVEITILOVEIT!**

 **SWOOOOOOOOOOORD!**

 **Man(SPOILERS), taking over the Iron Lords was really messed up and creepy. Not cool, SIVA; not. Cool. And Felwinter was an exo, so there might have even been a piece of him left in there somewhere...*shudders*. And according to grimiore, poor old Variks is traumatized by what those horrible Splicers are doing! BAD SPLICERS! I'l go make him some waffles real quick; he should cheer up after that.**

 **jsm1978: Heather loves destruction. So, naturally, she wanted to be a Titan first. I try to put funny pics for all my fics. ^^**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Here, he's okay! But, uhhh... I kind of mortally wounded Tevis.**

 **Order and Chaos: Martin's backstory will play in later in series. And his mother didn't know she was expecting when she found her storm.**

 **Alrighty, folks. The next chapter will make you laugh _and_ cry. It's a bit difficult for me to write. And updates will become less and less frequent now; I've exhausted all the chapters I wrote over the summer for all my Destiny fics, and school is heating up and keeping me busy. That, and I have an obligation to spend just a LITTLE time on my non-Destiny-oriented fics, like _A Tale of Grandeur_ (me personal favorite), and _The Rising Wind_.**

 **Get the tissues ready people. I suggest not readin the next chapter while in class, MaybeALittleBroken; if you hide in a bathroom stall, don't hold the phone over the toilet. *winks trustworthily***

 **Let me know what you guys thought of Brask's little time in the spotlight! Amberstar of Thunderclan actually wrote that bit with Cayde's tragic freak out over Tevis's proposal.**

 **Next Time: The inevitable happens.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	7. A Hunter's Vow: Part 2

**Quote of the Day: "If you learn nothing else, learn this..."**

* * *

It happened in the acid fields of old Minnesota. Cayde had taken east, Tevis had taken west. They'd been hot on the trail of a Fallen Archon from the little-known House of Waters.

Tevis, upon finding the trail, had followed it back to a vent field near Cayde's position. There, he'd found a captain, but no Archon. Upon taking a blow to the head, he'd found his comms weren't working. That was when the Archon had decided to show up.

He'd fought it briefly before he'd tricked it into stepping into a vent. Stuck, Tevis had been freed to locate Cayde in the open expanse below. But the Nightstalker had spotted something else, hiding on the other side of the fields; the glint of sunlight on the scope of a Fallen's wire rifle, aimed, presumably, at the unsuspecting Exo.

Try as he might, the awoken, with his helmet on, hadn't been loud enough for Cayde to hear his warnings. So, he'd taken his helmet off, and screamed "At your five O'clock!" at the top of his lungs, and his friend had only just avoided the killing blow to his head before firing off a shot of his own, presumably killing the Fallen.

Presumably, because Tevis had barely seen it. Having taken his helmet off, he was defenseless as a vent went off from just below him. With acid spray invading his lungs, he'd collapsed, trying desperately to get his helmet back on, only for the Archon, now freed, to kick it out of his hand.

In an act of shear cruelty, the Archon had taken the barely-conscious Nightstalker, and pinned him down, shoving his face into the open hole of a vent, letting the violent geyser of chemicals burst right up into his face.

It was around that same time that Cayde's ship arrived, called down by the Exo's ghost upon seeing Tevis fall from the first blast of toxic fumes. Cayde himself descended on the Archon in a whirlwind of electric fury, wreaking wrath upon the Fallen before grabbing Tevis's prone form and transmatting up with him as his ship swung low over the ground at top speeds.

On board, Cayde had done everything he could possibly think of to try and help his choking friend breath until they reached the Tower. Tevis's instinctive struggles for air ceased shortly before they were both transmatted into the middle of the highest of the Towers balconies, the main plaza where Guardians gathered on a day-to-day basis.

It had been two weeks.

"It's... not that bad." Cayde said slowly, trying to sound convincing.

"I sound like a cussed old guy." the ashamed awoken said mournfully in a voice that was broken, raspy, and rattle-y. He felt his face grow hot at the sound of his own voice, and pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to hide his shame.

"Well... look at the bright side." began Martin, who was in with a light fever that Birding didn't want to risk turning into... something else. "Your impersonation of Saladin Forge will be more accurate now."

"Not a 'cussed old guy'. It's more like a crocodile that had a porcupine dragged out through its trachea." Heather piped from somewhere near Martin's bedside.

He lowered the covers to glare at them both, to his left, though beneath the white sheet he was smiling.

"Did you just say 'trachea', Heather? That's the most advanced vocabulary I've heard you use all week!" Martin questioned with surprise.

"Nitwit. Blubber. Noodle. Tweak."

"Never mind."

Heads turned as Andal Brask entered the ward. His face was grim and contemplative, and Tevis got the feeling that something bad had just happened.

"Heya, Brask. What's up?" Cayde greeted as their friend and mentor approached.

"The Ketch he planted explosives on, of course." Tevis answered for him, rueful at the sound of his voice and offering Brask a cocky grin. On the other side of the room, Terra-27 poked her head out of her office, yelling before Brask could speak.

"Don't you dare rile him up, Andal! You'll be in the bed next to him faster than you can say 'Sparrow'!" she warned dangerously.

"I just want to talk to him and Cayde. Privately." Brask told her, unusually business-like. "Do you think a short walk would be possible? Nothing serious, just down to the gardens and back."

Tevis felt like a blazing fire had lit up inside of him at the mention of going outside. He'd been stuck in this bed a whole two weeks, unconscious for a majority of the time. The doctors had claimed there was some form of… Darkness, of all things, on the microscopic level, mixed in with the acid that Tevis had breathed in.

A Guardian could heal completely from anything, even a spinal cord injury.

Unless the wound was dark. In that case, that wound would take even longer to heal than it would for a normal human, and the flesh around it would scar easily. It was a mark that never left you. Tevis's new voice was permanent, and the Darkness made the healing process even longer.

Which meant the wild-longing that stirred in all Hunters now tortured him whenever he was awake. He'd been stuck in this bed, while his heart called to the wild. The mere mention of fresh air made him thirsty for the scent of pine and dirt. Inwardly, he sighed despairingly. _There's no way Terra would let me out of here so soon, though..._

"Fine." She sighed. Everyone's eyes widened, and Heather let out a whistle for unknown reasons. "A little fresh air may do him good. Don't strain him, or Cayde, I swear, I'll rip out your optics and feed them to the Thrall."

Tevis and Cayde looked at each other, grinning broadly(as much as an Exo could grin). "I think I can live with that."

Tevis shot upright, ripping the white covers off of him. "You heard the lady; let's blow this place!"

* * *

A few minutes later, Tevis was in his civvies, striding down the hall with the uncharacteristically silent Brask at the lead and an also civilian-style clad Cayde-6 at his side. The latter was currently berating him.

"Seriously, dude? It's like, three weeks away and _now_ your having second thoughts!?" he huffed. "Tell me you're not gonna let this whole 'voice' thing ruin your perfectly happy relationship?"

"Cayde, listen to me; actually _listen_. Does that sound like the voice of a loving father to you? My own children would be terrified of me. Besides; who wants to be known as the woman with the husband that sounds like he's seventy?" Tevis insisted forlornly, his voice raking claws up his throat.

"Tev, _you_ listen; I don't think she cares." his heart brother told him firmly, fists on his hips. "This whole time she's barely left your bedside. She didn't even blink twice when she heard you talk the first time, or when Terra said it would be permanent. And I'm pretty sure any kids you have would be too distracted and scatterbrained to even think twice about your voice."

Tevis cast him a narrow-eyed sideways glare, growling playfully, as they descended the steps to the Garden doors. "Did you just call my future offspring 'scatterbrained'?"

"You mad, bro?" Cayde teased.

"Yup. I'm going to tell them _all_ about mean uncle Cayde, judging them before they were even conceived. It'll break their little hearts; they'll never love you again."

"Sooo, you'll stick with your crazy wedding plan?"

"Yes, Cayde; I'll stick with my one true love." Tevis chuckled, causing him to cough.

The Garden was actually a section of wilderness just outside the Tower, beyond the wall. It was a place frequented by injured, recuperating Hunters who needed a taste of the wilderness before they went crazy. So long as they didn't run off into the sunset, most of the Tower's doctors allowed the brief visits. As they approached the doors, Cayde spoke again.

"Does there mean there will be mini Tevis's as well? For sure?" he asked almost hesitantly. Brask seemed to seize up in an odd way, turning his head partially in their direction, a strange, almost haunted look in his eyes.

"Hmmm. Maybe. We haven't really talked about it much yet." he admitted. It was true; children hadn't occurred to him before now.

"Well," Cayde declared, puffing out his chest nobly and striding out into the open," if you don't name your firstborn Cayde Jr., I'm going to be highly offended."

"That aside, I seriously need to talk to you two." Brask spoke for the first time since leaving the infirmary. He walked further into the open, Cayde and Tevis following. _I wonder what's got him so worried?_

A few days ago, Brask had relayed to them the story of what had happened during Heather's race. It was a disturbing thought, to think that perhaps, somewhere in the Tower, there could be a person, or persons, who might want to hurt the girl, who might have been the ones to kill her and hurt her like they had... Was there something more to it that Brask wanted to tell them?

"A few days ago I was heading back from our little chat about Heather." Brask began, halting in a small clearing, turning to face them. His face was still grim. Tevis was actually a little bit nervous; what could turn Brask this way? "And I... well, I overheard some things, in the main hangar. I was just checking up on my ship..."

"They... they weren't talking about Heather were they?" Cayde asked fearfully. Brask's behavior, his words... It made Tevis's insides squirm and writhe like Hive Worms dragged out of the dirt. _Something's wrong. Something's_ really _wrong._ Only faint relief trickled through him when Brask shook his head at Cayde's question.

"Brask... what's going on?" Tevis asked slowly. He almost didn't want to hear the answer.

"They were talking... about Della Tay." he relinquished. Tevis's breath caught in his throat painfully, and he heard Cayde suck in air. _Della Tay. Murderer. War-mongering pirate._ Every Guardian had heard tales of Tay's work; from killing a Reef Queen, to throwing a Warlock Vanguard into a volcano just for the fun of watching him scream, burn, and struggle and gurgle as the lava dissolved his lungs and body.

Which is why what Brask added next was so much more terrifying.

"About... hiring her." Several moment's silence, and then Cayde spoke up with terrified conviction.

"We have to tell the Vanguard." he stated, turning to rush back into the Tower. Brask jumped forwards and grabbed his arm as the wind changed in a sudden gust. Brask's cloak whipped around and flowed with the change in the air currents, black and red and tattered and worn from all their adventures during their two years together in the wilds.

"No! Cayde, if you tell any authorities, you'll get yourselves and them killed! You don't understand, it was-" Brask stopped, freezing. Tevis smelled it, too, despite his raw lungs and airways. The change in wind brought with it a scent they knew all too well, recognizable through the many complaints about the species' stink they had made over the years.

"Is that...?" Cayde started.

"Fallen!" Brask yelled, reaching for his knife.

But it was already too late.

The blast came from the trees, in the ridge up above, from where the wind was blowing down on them. It came through the tree trunks, and hit the ground at their feet, sending all three of them flying.

Spots danced in his vision as he was thrown into a boulder. Coughing, winded, he discovered that he couldn't breathe. He was still healing, damnit! Terra-27 was right; it was too soon for him to be taking hits in a fight!

"Tevis!" Brask's voice yelled as he fought for air, his vision darkening. He became aware of a figure at his side, and a hand shook his shoulder.

"Tev, breath! Come on, just breath, you can do it. Hold on, Tev!" It was Cayde. One hand rubbed Tevis's chest, trying to get the Awoken's tightening lungs to loosen up and let his friend breath. Surprisingly, it worked, and his chest didn't feel as tight any more.

"Cayde, get him out of here!" Brask's voice called. Tevis lifted his head weakly, gasping to recover his breath, and saw his old mentor standing a few meters away, knife drawn and in battle stance, facing the looming figure that was approaching from the ridge.

A Fallen, almost the size of a Kell, with thick armor, and a scorch cannon to accent it. Tevis and Cayde had seen Andal Brask pull off some amazing, stupid, awesome feats of skill in the all-too-short two years they'd been in the wilds together. But this... this was an impossible match-up. Not with Tevis incapacitated and Cayde-6 unarmed. And Brask wasn't wearing the armor plating that went with his gear; just the leather and wire weave base, with only his knife and King of Diamonds on him.

"Tell me you have Ace of Spades on you?" he groaned, hating the way his voice cracked and rattled like some old guy. The exo shook his head fearfully.

"You don't carry a weapon on a casual stroll through your backyard!" he exclaimed. "Wouldn't happen to have a knife, though, would you?"

"Cayde, I've been bedridden for two weeks! No, I don't have a knife on me!"

"Hmm, what's Brask's rule about knives again, I forget..."

" _Obviously_ , seeing as you're asking me for one!"

"GET YOUR STUPID HIND ENDS OUT OF HERE!" Brask yelled at them, pulling out King of Diamonds and setting it on fire while he was at it. He fired at the large Fallen, which dodged out of the way with all the grace of its smaller Vandal cousins.

Cayde pulled Tevis to his feet, and, supporting the downed Nightstalker, they began to make for the Tower at a lurching gate. Tevis heard a loud howl of pain, not preceded by a gunshot. _Brask's knife, meeting its mark, as always._ He realized.

"NO!" Their mentor's scream made them stop dead and snap their head around, to see the cannon pointed directly at them, the blast charging quickly. There was no time to think move, or speak. They were going to die. Unquestionably, they were going to die. Tevis was about to close his eyes when it happened.

In a blur of black, red, and dark, solar orange, Brask was there, launching himself at the cannon, jerking it out of alignment with its intended target. The scorch cannon fired none the less, and time seemed to slow down as Cayde screamed, Andal Brask sent slamming into a tree, and landing with a bloody blast mark in his chest.

His Exo friend ran from his side, and Tevis, in his shock, somehow managed to draw his bow. It was trained on the Fallen in a second, and he let his arrow fly. The void-made weapon struck the cannon, piercing it, and making it so that the only way for the Fallen to be free would be if it dropped it's now-broken weapon.

And it _laughed_. It laughed as the panicked Cayde skid to a halt at Brask's side. The Exo cradled their fallen mentor in his arms, shaking him as Tevis approached, chest beginning to tighten again.

"Brask! Brask, wake up!" the Bladedancer sobbed. "Andal!"

 _No. No, no, no, NO._ Tevis clutched his head, swaying on his feet, unable to process what was in front of him. The man that had trained him, had his back from day one, was now limp and lifeless in his best friend's arms. Blue eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky, the defiant fire of his last moments glazed into them. His chest was no more than a bloody hole, and blood had trickled from the corners of his mouth. King of Diamonds was still in one lax hand, the Gunslinger sticking to his favorite firearm even in death.

The gun was scorched, barrel a twisted mass of metal, Brask's arm and hand bloodied and blackened, embers still burning in all of his wounds and on his cloths, which were soaked with a pulseless flow of blood from what areas hadn't been cauterized by the heat of the blast.

"Cayde..." he managed to say, the words ripping out of him. "W-we need to get out of here. Like...like he said..."

Suddenly, he became aware of a shadow looming up from behind them.

"Cayde, run!" he shouted too late. The Fallen snatched the Exo up from behind, and threw him into a nearby tree so hard, the trunk snapped and collapsed on him after he slumped to the ground, unmoving.

"NO!" he screamed, barely able to breath, what with the combination of terror, grief, and over-activity. He managed to spin around in time to see another clawed hand coming for him, and it wrapped itself around his waist, pinning one arm to his side.

 _No! I will_ not _die like this!_ Like heck he was going to go down unarmed and without a fight! He focused once more, banishing his fear, cold hard vengeance replacing it. His Dusk Bow materialized, going straight through the Fallen's hand before he could throw him. In his free hand, he formed an arrow, and stabbed it into the Fallen's arm.

It's howls of agony pitched, and it dropped him, him taking the arrow and bow with him. He stumbled on his feet, landing on his behind, but put the arrow to the string none the less, and let it fly right into the Fallen's chest.

It staggered with another screech of pain as the arrow pierced it before dissolving, leaving an ether-leaking hole and anchoring it to the ground; for a while, at least. Tevis scrambled to his feet, and rushed to Cayde's tree. He struggled to breath, and struggled to move the log that had crushed his friend.

"Cayde!" He strained, pushing against the trunk with his shoulder. One blue-plated hand stuck out from underneath it, and he thought he could hear wires sparking. "Cayde, I need your help with this! Help me... help you! I... can't do this..."

It was too hard to breath. He felt too weak, he was dizzy from grief and lack of air, the surge of light and willpower that had allowed him to escape the Fallen's grasp was long-faded. The log dropped completely to the ground once more as his vision began to fade again, choking on himself.

The void anchor had worn off. The Fallen stomped towards him. It loomed above him, and he tried to muster at least enough strength to glare at it as it killed him. It picked him up by the throat, and squeezed, unaware that it was only speeding up a process that was already happening.

Tevis Larsen couldn't lift a hand in self-defense. He could only choke. So when everything went black, airless, he didn't notice the fire and the sensation of hitting the ground. He felt... strangely free, somehow. He was nowhere in particular.

He... thought he could hear voices. No, _a_ voice...

"Tevis?" He turned-or, did he?- but no-one was there. The voice was muffled, almost slurred.

"...Larsen...up..." _What?_

Suddenly, there was a face in front of his, startling him. Brask reached one hand around his protégé's head, and slapped him up the back of his neck angrily.

"You hear me, Larsen? I said, _wake up_!" awareness faded back to him, for a brief flash of an instant. Someone pumping up and down on his chest...like...

He coughed, gasping for air, and whomever had been giving him CPR stopped. He coughed and gasped, heaving for breath but unable to get any, and someone put an oxygen mask over his mouth. Pure air rushed to meet him, shocking him further, everything happening too fast.

"Breath. It's alright, just breath, Tevis." Ikora Rey told him gently. Her and several other hazy faces were hovering over his, including Commander Zavala, Terra-27, and, much to his surprise, Lord Saladin.

"Larsen, what the heck happened?" Zavala demanded. "One moment I'm filing reports, the next, Saladin is going mad outside the war room, yelling about an attack."

"Let him recover, Zavala." Ikora insisted. Tevis remembered with a flash of terror and horror what had happened.

"Brask... C-Cayde..." he managed stutter a broken-voiced whimper. Saladin bowed his head, and Ikora and Zavala shared a look.

"I am...so sorry..." Ikora said, solemnly, one hand stroking his head. _No._ They...they couldn't both be... was... _no..._

It was all his fault. If he hadn't taken his damn helmet off. But then, Cayde would have been shot, killed; would things be any better?

And it hadn't made much difference in the end, had it, either? _No... no... I... I killed them. I killed them both._ His world became drowned in despair as he lost consciousness.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

He kept his eyes closed. Slowly, he returned to reality. He could sense, feel, the presence of another person, sitting on the end of his bed. One of their hands gripped one of his, rubbing the back of it gently with one thumb. The events of the day washed over him in a wave of anguish, but he kept his eyes closed.

 _Tirtha._ The last and first person he wanted to see. He didn't deserve her. He couldn't protect his friends; no, brothers. How could she trust him to protect her, or the City? He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to face her. He was a broken man with a broken voice and of a broken brotherhood.

He wanted to scream to her about how unfair it all was. He wanted to open his eyes. So, he did.

And there she was; dark hair tied back, as always. Her eyes glowed a warm autumn red, and they looked down on him gently.

"Hey." she greeted softly as she saw he was awake. Her other hand joined the first in gripping his own left one. "Worried me sick."

"I'm the last one that should be worried over." He rasped. His throat felt tight. Whether it was from grief or his injuries, he no longer knew.

"You've been out for two days, Tevis." She told him softly. Compared to when he'd recently woken to be told a week had passed, this news was mild and unsurprising. In fact, he didn't really care.

"And they'll never wake up." He replied, feeling like the void was trying to suck away his insides. At this, Tirtha looked a little confused.

"They?"

"Brask and Cayde. You remember them."

"Tevis, Cayde's not dead."

"What!" He jerked himself upright, and she tried to keep force him back down, the movement sending a scratchy pain through his lungs, one that he ignored due to the small spark that seemed to have lit up inside of him.

"Terra's been working on him while you were out. I didn't understand much of what she was saying. There was a spark of residual power, one she thought she might be able to work with." Tirtha explained gently, her being the only force stopping him from jumping out of the bed and rushing off to wherever it was Cayde was at.

"She… she can save him?" he rasped hopefully. He could feel his hands shaking. Was it too much to hope that he could walk away from this horrific event with at least one of his brother's intact?

"I'm a doctor; not a mechanic." Came Terra-27's voice from the doorway, resulting in turned heads. He felt something in him twist. "But I think I've done well besides that."

"Past tense?" Tevis questioned. Was Cayde here somewhere, already walking around.

That internal question was answered by the startled yell of terror echoed from somewhere in the wards down the hall. He ripped the IV off and tore away from his bed, ignoring the pain it all caused and the dizziness that flashed through him, as the yell was followed with a wail of anguish.

Neither woman stopped him.

* * *

He stared at himself in the mirror blankly. He was dressed in a dark ceremonial leather-wire weave blend. Like all things Hunter, it was quite dashing, the fine black cloak that went with it lined with brown trimmings. These were garments that every Hunter possessed in storage. It was custom.

But Tevis had never imagined there would be a day he had to wear them. As newly revived Hunter recruits, him and Cayde had tried them on, just for kicks and giggles.

"And just who might you two be mourning?" Brask, then only their mentor of about a day and a half. They had looked at each other, grinned, and then back at Brask.

"You, Gas." Cayde had replied solemnly, one fist over his heart. Tevis had mimicked his movements.

"For we fear you may not survive training us." Tevis had added, both him and Cayde bowing their heads in mock sorrow.

"It's 'Brask', not 'Gas'!" Their mentor had gasped in exasperation.

Who would have guessed that they would one day grieve for Andal Brask for real? Had that day over four years ago set the stages of the events of four days ago? Tirtha came up from behind him, in a black dress and coat. How long had he been standing here again?

"Tevis?" she grabbed his wrist gently. He looked at her. "It's time."

"Okay." he couldn't swallow the lump in his scarred throat. Even now, when it was about to become so final, it felt like the world had to be a dream. Like any moment now, Brask would stick his head around a corner and yell 'gotcha'.

It wasn't long in their journey out and into the halls that they met up with a familiar Exo face.

Terra-27 had managed to restore Cayde almost completely. The blow that had knocked him into the tree had knocked loose several key circuits, and significantly damaged his motor function control. They were still working on that. That, and the scrapped, dented metal his friend was covered in.

Normally neat and polished blue, the plates on Cayde's head and face betrayed the tale of the deadly 'battle'. The back left side of his 'skull' was still exposed, the metal in hard, jagged edges. Once his vital systems were completely in order, they would work on replacing the plating and getting him back to his normal self.

For now, Tevis's best friend simply pulled the hood of his ceremonial cloak over his head to hide the scarring self-consciously.

"Cayde." Tirtha greeted as they approached. Tevis put a hand on his friend's shoulder. No words need be said; no words could be said. The Exo had gone into a state of panic upon being reactivated in the Tower infirmary. For him, it had been mere seconds after Brask's death. Tevis, dizzy, in pain, aggrieved, and relieved, had helped Cayde hide his greatest shame.

It wasn't that Cayde-6 didn't want to be caught sobbing like a child, but that people would see how he _couldn't_ cry. No Exo could truly cry. It was basic knowledge, but he knew it still hurt his friend. To have the world you'd come to know ripped away from you, and be unable to shed a single tear.

Revived Guardians didn't always come back with their memories intact. Some only grasped their name; others, not even that. Heather had been young enough when she died to have retained almost all of her memories -the bad _and_ the good- but on the opposite side of the spectrum Brask had chosen his name a week or so after revival. Tevis sometimes thought he could remember a broken ship in an asteroid field. Cayde remembered only a shadowy figure bearing down on him, and that he'd once been human.

With broken memories, they were new people with old faces. Brask had taken them under his wing (albeit reluctantly, he'd just finished training another set of Hunters), and the three of them had become a family. Now... Tevis felt like a child lost without their father. And he wasn't coming for him.

"Let's get it done." he rasped.

* * *

Hunters were traditionally buried in the patches of wilderness just outside the wall, often beneath a species of tree that they had favored. Special small gardens were tended outside to help grow the trees that weren't native to the area. If one saw the Hunter crest carved deep into the bark of a tree, with a cloak hanging from a branch on high, that was where a Hunter had been laid to rest.

Now, and entire area would likely never be used again. Since Brask's death, the Garden where injured Hunters had often recuperated was now watched and prowled by Fallen snipers. It was terror tactics.

The place where Brask fell was no longer an area that represented freedom from the constraints of a hospital, it no longer represented the fleeting scent of wild after days or weeks of artificial air.

The place where Brask fell was now called the Drop Zone. Right outside the Tower. The wilderness was too dense to navigate, and wherever the Fallen were coming from, it gave them a height advantage over any investigating parties. They were so well-hidden it was scary, those that were killed were quickly replaced.

Brask was being buried outside the north wall, beneath a pine tree. _"Nothin' like the smell o' pine in the morning, boys!"_ he'd once told them as young Guardians. Tevis watched as the casket was lowered into the hole dug at the tree's roots. The roots seemed to grow around the hole, as if to embrace the Hunter that had once been as one with the wild as it was.

As a Vanguard, Brask was set into his final resting place by four Titans in ornate and solemn armor. Zavala was among them. Tevis's throat tightened more as a dull thud marked the box hitting the ground, and the Titan's backed away. As Zavala had been on the Lowering Guard, Lord Saladin was the one holding Brask's folded black and red cloak.

This was the part the Hunter Vanguard would normally have done. But now... it was up to Tevis. It wouldn't be, wouldn't feel right if the last Iron Lord, as a Titan, did what was supposed to be done now. He stepped forwards, away from Cayde and Tirtha's sides. Across from them stood Birding, Heather, and Martin, who had gone mute and relapsed into his sickliness. Heather's eyes looked at the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks, while Martin wheezed beside her, having silently refused not to be present. He'd grown a few inches over the year, despite his ill health.

He marched forwards, much to Saladin's raised eyebrow. This wasn't something that had been planned. Tevis walked up to him, and held out his hands, and the Iron Lord slowly nodded in understanding. _You know_ this _, Saladin, don't you?_ he thought. _This ripping feeling?_

The Titan lowered the cloak into Tevis's hands. He'd seen this cloak a million times. The scorch cannon's blast hadn't gone all the way through Brask's body, so the cloak was still intact, though a bit singed. The blood had been cleaned off with tender care. He knew, that as Presenter, he would not be able to take it himself. But he didn't need to.

"When a Hunter takes up the cloak of a fallen comrade," he began in the loudest voice he could muster, sounding as broken as he felt, but for some reason, it no longer hurt, and his voice was strong, "this is a vow. Are there any such promises to be made?"

Almost before he could finish speaking, Cayde-6 stepped forwards. He looked his friend in the eyes, and undid the clasp of his ceremonial cloak, letting it fall to the dirt. Tevis let Brask's cloak fall open, and the Exo came up to him. He draped it over his shoulders, and closed the clasp. It looked... right on him somehow.

"Keep it." he told him, putting both hands firmly on the Exo's shoulders.

It was done.

The mighty had fallen. The voice-cripple had been saved. The leak had been silenced. The assassin paid for his troubles.

Andal Brask was dead, and the clock could not be reversed. Cayde turned around obligingly as Tevis took out the knife at his belt for what came next. He knelt down, and with a sound of tearing fabric, he ripped and shredded a sizable swath of the cloak away from the bottom left corner.

He stood with it, and left the lines of people standing for the ceremony. Taking a running start, he vaulted himself up the tree, grabbing onto its branches. His breath wheezed and bubbled in his chest at the over-activity as he steadied himself. _There. That's the branch._

It was humble, but would still display nicely. Simple and sharp-looking, just like how Brask would've wanted. He tied the fabric around the branch tightly, and the black and red fabric blew in the wind as if to declare Brask's legacy.

He dropped down, and took his knife out again. Careful not to fall into the grave, he stepped over the hole, in front of the tree, and began to carve. As Presenter, it was his duty. The procession began to disperse as he carved. Tirtha was among the last to leave, thinking to allow him and Cayde a few moments alone with their fallen brother.

At last, Tevis finished carving. The Hunter insignia presented itself boldly from the bark, the mark so deep, it would take a few decades to fade. Saladin alone was left of the main procession, standing a distance away, waiting for them to leave so he could give the all-clear to finish the burial process. Aside from him, there was only Cayde, staring off into the distance in the direction of Brask's tree.

He removed himself from in front of the tree, and stood beside his friend.

"You know what this means, Tev?" Cayde asked out loud, voice choked with emotion.

"You should probably take the Dare. Since he was Vanguard." Tevis said. _It would be fitting._ Even if it meant risking Cayde's freedom.

"No. He never finished speaking, Tevis." The Exo corrected. The Awoken looked at his friend. Cayde glanced back at him. "Somewhere in the Tower, someone is plotting a murder. Plotting to hire Della Tay. And he never got the chance to tell us who. There's a traitor in the Tower, Tevis. And he was the only one that knew who it was."

The gravity of what that entailed hit him like a wave of salt water hitting a gut injury. _I completely forgot about that!_

"You don't think that's what got him killed, do you?" He asked. They had learned now that the Fallen that had attacked them was a notorious mercenary, recently back on the radar after a long period of inactivity; Taniks, the Scarred. Saladin had been the first to find out because apparently, several Reef Crows had decided to party crash an Iron Banner tournament on Mars(a much more brutal variant of Shaxx's live fire simulators; the bullets were still dummies, but infused with nerve toxins that made them hurt as much as the real thing). Through the competition feeds, they had warned about recent intel suggesting a bounty put on Brask by the House of Waters, and given to Taniks.

The Crows had yet to reveal their source.

"No." Cayde shook his head. "Only Fallen can hire Taniks. They would've sent Tay after him, if they knew he knew."

Silence followed him. Even the wind seemed to have quieted into silent requiem for another lost Hunter who would never feel it's touch again.

"What do we do now?" Tevis asked, still keeping his voice quiet so Saladin didn't overhear.

"We honor Brask's final wish. We keep quiet. We don't even know who it was he overheard, so we tell no-one of this; not even the people we trust, or think we can trust." he looked ahead again. "Like he said, it could get them hurt or killed. In the meanwhile, we keep digging. Discretely. I'll take the Dare. If I lose... I'll poke my nose around and see what I find. But we have to be careful, Tevis. And we... we need a failsafe."

"Failsafe? For what?" Tevis tipped his head to the side questioningly.

"Brask was the only one who knew, and he got killed. What if we get killed, and no-one else knows? If there's a group of Guardian's is running around hiring Tay to off people, the City could be in real danger, real fast if things start to go down. There's nothing more violent than a cornered rat. We need a way to warn people, something we can leave behind if we go down. Something to let them know what's happening." The Exo insisted. Tevis shook his head.

"No. No, no, Cayde. "He insisted tiredly. "Let's not think about... that so soon after... whatever plans you want, let's just... perhaps wait until after the wedding, okay?"

They sat in silence a while more.

"How long?" Cayde asked into the silence.

"We moved it back a week. Brask... would've wanted us to change the schedule too much on his account."

"I think you're right. But I think you ought to make it just a little bit longer. Let's just... take a while for it to sink in, you know? Brask being... dead."

The choked word sounded hollow coming out of Cayde's mouth.

They stood silently with one another until the sun began to set, listening to the wild's silence, watching as the sun paint the forest, feeling the wind blow smells of pines and evergreens and fresh dirt underfoot to their wild-thirsty senses. It called to them, the wild-longing gripping their hearts, their weary minds eager to oblige and leave, to embrace the wilderness and leave this nightmare behind.

But they couldn't. For they both had promises to keep. And many, many miles to go before they were able to sleep.

They left, back for the City. Saladin shut his eyes, ghosts of the past washing through his mind. No-one would see the tear leak down his cheek to drip onto his armor. The Hunters had not been quiet enough.

 _It's happening again._

Last time had been so hard. There was nothing he could do for Cayde and Tevis. Brask was long gone. _Gone with the answers that he could have provided._

Saladin knew about as much as the Hunters did. He'd spent four years looking for peace, looking to set Ashraven's light to rest. What might have Brask been able to tell him? What questions might he have been able to answer?

"Old friend... your war now repeats itself." he spoke into the setting light.

 _It's happening again._

* * *

 **Before you say I have no heart, I _literally_ cried while writing this. It didn't help I was listening to RoI tracks "Elegy" and "Requies Aeterna" while I wrote it, either. You've all known that the moment would come where we had to say goodbye to Brask. I'll admit, it was _really_ hard offing him. And then I had to go and punch you in the Saladin feels, too.**

 **Speaking of Saladin, we learned that the Iron Wolves died during the SIVA battle as well in canon. I have it written that they died at Twilight Gap. As this was written before RoI dropped, these event in the DF Universe WILL NOT CHANGE. The Wolves died at the Gap, for the sake of this fic. Saladin trained them years after the SIVA disaster where Jolder and the others kicked the bucket, and now cannot, in good conscious, train anyone else because of the various risks surrounding the secrets of Ashraven's death.**

 **Not that you heard it from me. And WOW, only two reviews guys? I get there was a glitch and all, but MAN! I thought that cliffhanger would result in a review explosion for sure!**

 **Guest: He'll die at an unspecified time and place, with an unspecified cause of death. Probably won't be the Black Garden, though; to use that would feel a bit... unpersonal, considering how well we'll get to know his character.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Let it allll out. Sorry to say, I'm not done punching you in the feels yet. Though next chapter will be considerably lighter, with some Hunter antics thrown into it for good measure.**

 **We've only got a few more chapters until Silverhawk and Martin graduate. After that, I'm afraid 15 Seconds won't be updating for a while. We'll see what they got up to before Fever, and watch Variks meet Martin for the first time, but after that I'll have to finish Wolfsbane, the installment after Heartbusters, before we continue into Martin's quest for a cure for Silverhawk, and Uldren's investigation of some serious lies(this is a pun that you won't get until later).**

 **I gave a lot of thought into this chapter. Especially as to how Hunter burial customs might be. They don't always have the luxury of getting a formal burial; sometimes the team must continue on with a hastily-dug grave and a few words of sorrow. As he was Vanguard, and killed close to the Tower, and his body was retrieved, Brask got the full treatment. I'm hoping this was a fitting send-off for the fellow we've had with us for the past few chapters.**

 **What was your initial reaction when Brask got blasted by Taniks?**

 **What was your favorite moment of Brask?(I know your answer will be "arrow to the knee")**

 **How would _you_ like to see Taniks go down?**

 **Next Time: New life fills the void of a tragic loss, and Silverhawk gives the floor a hug. Cuz it needs one.**

 **Cheers^^!**


	8. 16

**Quote of the day: "Change the- are you kidding me? Why don't YOU just change to using a... a whip? 'Change the meter'. Unbelievable."-Lady Skorri**

* * *

"Are you _still_ certain this is okay?" Heather, recently going more commonly by 'Silverhawk', asked, hefting the wooden model over her shoulder.

"Duh, of course it's okay!" Cayde raised his arms halfway, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Saladin took on ol' Shaxx and Papa Smurf when he was Vanguard. If he can do it, why can't I?"

It had taken a month for her to learn how to laugh again. It had taken five days for Martin's voice to stop betraying him. It had been nearly a year since the death of Andal Brask, what had gone down in history as the worst day of her entire Guardian life.

Martin, at hearing the news, had curled up under his bed and went mute. Then, his illness had relapsed for a whole month, wrecking havoc on him. It was so unfair! She'd locked herself in her bedroom, and did something similar, though on the bed, not underneath it, and her throat hadn't closed itself to speech like Martin's had.

Roughly six months ago, they had started their Guardian training. At first, it was just the basics; aiming a weapon, a few mock fights with paintballs. Training to focus your light(with sometimes amusing results; practice for grenade infusing involved blowing up various fruits). Basic survival tactics.

But now, they were getting into the basics of close combat in specific class styles. And that was where they hit a roadblock. Namely, Heather's deathtouch. She couldn't spar, not with other students, not with the instructors. It was simply too risky.

So Cayde had decided it would be for the better if he took up personal mentorship of her. As an Exo, he didn't have to fear skin contact with her. The sparing could get as heated as she wanted it. It was still strange seeing him in Brask's cloak, though.

They'd been doing private sessions for a couple of weeks now, though she still asked the same question at the start of every task. She knew Zavala thought Cayde would have spent his time better by not taking an apprentice, and even Saladin had warned of the stresses of training Guardians while serving duties to the Vanguard.

The Exo had appropriately ignored them all. She got the feeling it might either be out of pity that they didn't press the subject further, or the fact that since the Exo had started training her, new life seemed to have been breathed into him. He hadn't been himself, naturally, since Brask died. But it was only now that the old Cayde-6 she'd come to know as a child was finally resurfacing in full.

Tevis, too, was shining brighter... but for another reason entirely. He'd recovered enough from his acid wounds to be allowed into the field again. But that wasn't the reason Tevis Larsen had been revived. In fact, he'd hardly left the Tower since the wedding, a bittersweet affair.

"Do you think it will happen today?" she asked excitedly; the second question she usually asked at the start of a session these days. Cayde shrugged with an exasperated sigh, clearly as impatient as she was.

"Ugh, I hope! Still the wee-est of lads and he's already five days late! Thank Tevis for that!" _OH MY GOSH THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME! WHY CAN'T IT JUST_ HAPPEN _ALLREADY!?_

She'd had a feeling this morning. She'd just _known_. She'd opened her eyes to the sight of the ceiling above her, heard Martin snoring peacefully, _healthily_ , on the other side of her wall, sunlight filtering in through her window, and she just _knew_.

 _Today will be the day._

"Okay, so, while we wait for too-little, too-late, lets review here. Show me how you do the Bladedancer's trip?" he opened his arms, offering himself as a target. With her wooden blade, she rushed at him, and pretended to trip to the right. In reality, it was a controlled fall, and at the end of her 'trip', she shot forwards, striking him in the knee as she passed.

His hand accidently whacked her in the forehead, and the smooth transition out of the move she'd intended was turned into a sloppy roll that ended with her flat on her stomach. Cayde loomed over her. She looked up at him innocently.

"I didn't mess up! The floor just needed a hug." she told him, stretching her arms to further encompass the fighting matt.

"Yeah. And I'm a Warlock." he deadpanned, smiling. Suddenly, the door to the right of the room burst open. It was Zavala, letting a Ghost in. Tevis's Ghost. He flew up to Cayde in a rush, Zavala watching with raise eyebrows.

"Care to explain why this Ghost was bugging _me_ in particular?" he demanded. The Ghost turned swiftly to answer.

"Tevis told be to bug you. As annoyingly as possible." He answered, before turning back to Cayde, who offered the offended Titan a smug look. "Cayde... it's happening."

"What happening? You gotta be more specific Sk-Oh. OH!" the Exo gripped the side of his head, hopping from one foot to the other. Heather sprang to her feet with a squeal, clapping and jumping up and down excitedly.

" _OH_!" the Exo burst forwards, pushing past Zavala rudely.

"Cayde! Just where do you think you're going!?" He demanded hotly as the Hunter apprentice waved her master goodbye excitedly. He had a duty, but for now it would probably be best if she stayed away from something so fragile, even if she was excited. The last thing she wanted was for an accidental touch to occur. All Zavala got as a reply was the elated yell that echoed down the halls for all to hear.

"I'm gonna be a godfather!"

* * *

"What if he doesn't like me?" The Nightstalker worried in his scratchy voice, wringing his hands in a very Martin-ish manner. "What if he's afraid of my voice?"

"Tev, babies are afraid of everything. I think their concept of 'like' and 'not like' is limited to very simple things. Like a poopy diaper. Have fun with those, by the way." Cayde told his friend from where he had kicked back across several chairs. Tevis was pacing nervously in front of his friend.

Tirtha had spent the time by swearing murder against her husband for doing this to her. She'd also broken his hand. By accident, but three of his fingers were in little finger splints. He'd been removed from the wards after fainting.

"Oh, ha, as if you're going to get out of changing a few, _uncle_ Cayde. You have to be nice to me now, and behave, or else we stick you on diaper duty."

"Pft, Tirtha'd never agree."

"Actually, she thinks it might build you moral."

"You can't be serious, Tev."

"Well, I _would_ make you stand in the corner instead, but it doesn't work for Zavala, so…"

"Don't you dare, Tevis! Or... I'll sing the song."

"Don't _you_ dare!"

"You wanna hear a funny story?"

"Don't do it. Don't you do it."

"Ohhhh..."

"It's bad enough you and Brask spread it around the Tower."

"There was one day a Hunter..."

"I will seriously strangle you Cayde!"

"A Hunter who's name was Tevis..."

The Awoken rushed at his friend as he burst into full on song. Cayde scrambled out of the chairs, running over them and knocking one over as he ran from his friend, laugh/singing all the while.

"And wouldn't you know, he got a Dusk Bow, early one summer day!

Now, dear Andal Brask had something important to say!

'That Bow is a weapon, YOU HEAR ME NOW, not something with which you play!'

"To show the world what he could to, Tevis the Hunter drew,

Pulled back the string-a miraculous thing- and er' the shaft flew!

But ai, dear old Brask, come back from his task, arrived in the arrow's path!

Annnnd...

His knee! His knee! Took the arrow to the knee!

"The knee, the knee, an arrow, arrow, arrow, a Dusk arrow to the knee!"

"I'LL PUT ARROWS THROUGH BOTH YOUR KNEES IF YOU DON'T CEASE THAT RACKET THIS INSTANT!" Tevis froze on top of Cayde, hands wrapped around the Exo's throat. Both of them looked at the thunderous Terra-27, in surgical uniform. Tevis scrambled off his friend, looking suddenly terrified.

"I-is he? Are they...?" he stuttered, words failing him.

"What he's _trying_ to say, is 'can we come into the out now'?" Cayde asked for his friend draping one arm over his shoulder.

"Not if you're going to be singing Hunter shanties at the tops of your lungs in my ward! Tirtha need her rest, not a rodeo show!"

"I think Tevis is to blame for this one; he forgot Exo's can't be strangled."

Both men reared their heads back a little when the female Exo made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Then, she stepped aside, golden glare burning into their skulls.

"You have three strikes." she warned. Cayde shivered, pushing his friend hastily alone.

"Just, ah, don't look her in the eyes, mate. And don't be alarmed by this... but I'm starting to think she can smell fear." the Exo whispered. The arrow song had been circulated around the Guardian community by a vengeful Brask and a gleefully teasing Cayde. It remained burned into the minds of just about every Hunter that came through the Tower, and it drove Tevis around the bend.

Cayde hang back as Tevis swallowed hard, halting.

"Not going to faint again, are you princess?" the Vanguard Dare's most recent victim asked. Tevis gave him a forceful nudge with one elbow, and walked forwards as the sound of a young child called to him.

The Bladedancer leant against the wall in satisfaction as the Nightstalker went over to a curtain-cut off bed near the end of the room. A few minutes passed, in which Cayde busied himself tracking a fly that was zipping around one of the windows.

Tevis's head stuck out from behind the curtains, the broadest smile he'd made in a year spread across his face.

"Oi! Lucky godfather! Aren't you gonna come and say hello?" he called. Smile splitting the Exo's face plates, he made his way over to them.

Tirtha looked exhausted, but happy. Tevis looked like he might explode. In the Nightstalker's arms was the tiniest of beings, wrapped in a gray blanket. The newborn cooed and mumbled, and already appeared to have a thatch of dark hair on his head.

"Aww, look at little Cayde Jr.!" Cayde cooed. Despite her tiredness, Tirtha rolled her eyes with a few huffs of laughter.

"Are we sure we want our son hanging around a man this vain, Tevis? If I didn't know any better, I'd say Cayde is disappointed in our choice of name!" she teased.

"Scoundrel! I think it's the perfect name!" Cayde quipped back, hand over his heart. Though it was said in all good humor, they all knew he spoke the truth. He went around the bed to lean in next to Tevis to get a better look at the child.

His chubby blue face was scrunched up against the sudden light of being outside the womb, and he did, indeed, have a small amount of thick, dark fuzz on his head. His eyes glowed green, the same shade as his father's, and one tiny fist gripped the edge of the blanket he was wrapped in.

Cayde gave the child his finger to play with. His best friend's son grabbed hold of the offering with a supriseingly strong grip, cooing, with the intent to stick the finger in his mouth(as all young children had the instinct to eat everything they touched).

"Hello, Andal." Cayde greeted softly. "Welcome to the City."

* * *

"Well, look at the _bright_ side; you finally figured it out!" Heather chirped as Martin held the ice pack to his face… which was blackened. He'd cleaned the soot off his glasses, but his hair was a mess, and he had light burns on his face. His hands were wrapped in bandages, though; a consequence of improper technique.

"Yeah, and I blew myself up!" he replied bitterly. He'd finally tapped into his light, and this happened! Everyone had been practicing with the powers most common to their chosen classes; he and the Warlock recruits were practicing trying to touch the void, Heather had managed to charge and blow up a papaya in class the other day with solar light, and one poor Titan trainee had electrocuted himself the other day.

Such were the dangers of practicing with your light. As younger children, Ghosts had yet to complete the light bond they had with their chosen Guardians. Once that bond was closed… a Guardian or Guardian in training had full access to their powers. It also, however, meant that if your Ghost died, you were rendered powerless, and Martin had discovered this was the reason for Wheatly's sudden withdrawal.

The little Ghost had often hung out in his top pocket when he was younger, but now he hardly ever came out, claiming that if he died, Martin would be powerless, and hence unable to protect him.

So far… the Ghost had yet to see the illogic reasoning of this; if he was dead, he wouldn't need protecting.

"So, you wanna go see Andal _now_?" Heather pressed. He sighed, rolling his eyes. Brask's death had been a bad blow. His voice had failed him for five whole days after Taniks had attacked. But new life had replaced what had been lost, in the form of Tevis's son, named quite appropriately after the Nightstalker's lost mentor.

The Hunter himself had been revived by the prospect of the child's arrival, and everyone could tell this was exactly what he'd needed to heal from the nightmarish experience him and Cayde had gone through. The Bladedancer? He often hid it well, but he was just as excited as Tevis was about the child, his godson, arriving. Martin had once caught him skipping down a hallway like a carefree schoolkid.

Though the most noticeable part of Cayde's recovery happened when he started training Heather. And Martin was becoming quite satisfied with the way both Hunters were moving on from this year of hell.

 _Now just to avoid getting sick again…_ Brask's death had triggered a relapse of his last sick period. It had come to an end shortly before they'd started their training.

"Yes, Heather, let's go see Andal." He relented. Maybe some cuteness would take his mind off the pain from his burns, anyhow. 'Silverhawk' let out an excited squeal, grabbed him by the arm, and ran down the hallway.

* * *

 **Brask may be gone, but he is not forgotten. As Martin said, new life has filled the void our favorite doomed Hunter left behind.**

 **Order and Chaos: In my head, Taniks was using Tevis and Cayde to get to Brask; he was hoping Brask would take the blow. Like Variks said; he's a clever Eliksni. Yes, in this fic, The Iron Wolves died at the Gap, as mentioned before. My original headcanon, before we learned they died from SIVA in canon, is that they were a new generation of Iron Lords trained by Saladin after SIVA was 'destroyed', as it was revealed they were the "second generation of Iron Lords". Since I wrote all this down before RoI dropped, this headcanon remains in place for this particular AU, and I can get away with it because I wrote it before RoI. Muahaha. Glad you found Brask's exit worthy.**

 **alienraptor: Oh, I've considered a crack humor one-shot where that Fallen walker lands ontop of Taniks and the strike just ends there, lol.**

 **Tales of a Voidwalker: this is the fic I use to repetitively punch people int he feels. Glad you liked the funeral!**

 **Guest(29th, 1): Hehe, glad I managed to get your feels. Gotta agree with Cayde Bladedancer; in their little team, Tevis is the Nightstalker, Brask was the Gunslinger, and Cayde-6 is your resident close-range butt-kicker , not Dark Age; if you've been paying attention, he speaks of Ashraven, and in this Au, since I wrote it before RoI drpped and I can get away with it, The Iron Wolves died at Twilight Gap. it has nothing to do with SIVA lore; it's my original plot.**

 **Guest(29th, 2): Those last couple minutes of Elegy always remind me of Brask now, so does Requies Aeterna.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken:Here, here have some cute and Hunter humor, here! there there.*strokes head* This is only the beginning of the feels... shhhhh.**

 **Sovietshadow: Because; I'm the secret villain of this fic. Muahaha! The knee thing... twill always be remembered, in a song that Skorri would be proud of...**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Here!*throws baby Andal at you* here he is! Namesake power!**

 **Okay, I decided to give it some time for Brask's death to sink in with you all. And here we have the Larsen family finally complete. Funnily enough, we won't be seeing little Andal until the fifth installment, after this fic and Wolfsbane are finished. If you've paid close attention in authors note for Heartbusters, you'll know this installment is Twilight.**

 **So, Cayde and Tevis are on a mission; a mission to uncovr the secrets that Brask and Ashraven took to their graves. Poor Saladin wants answers so badly! Quick explanation; Ashraven and Saladin were close, and he knew she was in trouble, but she kept him in the dark for fear he would get killed, so that's why he knows so little, in case any of you were thinking it unrealistic that he knew so little. Did I mention this isn't the last AN? I have no idea, and, quite frankly, I'm too lazy to check right now.**

 **So, I think my favorite part of this chapter had to be either A; little Andal coming into the world, or B; the Arrow Song. We'll be seeing that a few times more in the future. I don't know what came over me; I just... I read Skorri's grimiore and I just had to... had to... I HAD TO SIIING! SING OF HUNTER GLORY!**

 **Next Time: The past comes back to haunt Silverhawk, and Shiro begins to suspect something is wrong.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	9. 17

**Quote of the Day: _"Just because_ you _have the emotional range of a teaspoon!_** _ **"**_ **\- Hermione Granger**

"Dude, he's just so... _like that_." Silverhawk said. Martin looked up from his book patiently, and looked over at Shiro-4, who was standing with his fists on his hips, talking to Cayde-6, while they waited for the rest of the class to arrive.

"Like what, Heather?" he asked. She flicked the back of his head with one hand.

"I've told you before, Martin; call me Silverhawk. And I mean he's like... well, just _look_ at him! It's all in his stance! He's like his stance!"

"And I'm going to tell _you_ , _Heather_ , right now, that there is no way on earth that if he ever _did_ see you, he'd recognize you now. You're a _little_ bit bigger, and a _small_ amount of different looking." he insisted, enjoying the look on her face as he emphasized the short words.

"When are you gonna stop with the short jokes, eh?" she demanded, eyes hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses she'd taken to wearing just in case. He smirked.

"When you've payed for every 'too little, too late' statement you've ever made about me."

"I'm not sure I like this new, confident, Martin Anton."

"It's the height getting to me. Must be the thin air doing it."

"Ugh, please, dude; it's only a couple of inches!"

"Wrong; I've checked, it's a whole foot. I'm a whole foot taller than you now, Heather Chancellor, and you stopped growing a _long_ time ago."

"Ha! Joke's on you; you didn't start growing until about two years ago!"

Sometimes, it was hard to believe it had been two years since Andal Brask's death. After the initial attack, every day had passed slow and torturous, like a nightmare that wouldn't end, a sleep that couldn't be woken up from. And now, after the birth of Andal Larsen, deemed 'Mini Tev' by Cayde, the year seemed to have flown by.

At three months old, Tirtha had kicked Tevis out of the Tower, on the basis that his wild-longing was 'driving him crazy, and driving me crazy, too!' Wild-longing was known to cause heavy distress in Hunters after a certain period of time, and Tevis hadn't been out in the world properly since Brask's death. First, to heal from his wounds and the grief. Then, to stay with Tirtha through her pregnancy. Then, to watch his son grow up and help care for him.

There was no denying that Tevis loved his son; Andal was everything he needed to recover from Brask's death completely. Well, completely was a bit of a stretch. One never fully really recovered from something like what had happened to the Hunters three, now two.

But shortly after Andal's birth, Tevis had contracted a rather strange cough and wheeze in his breathing. Although reluctant to leave his family so soon after it got bigger, he had, at his wife's insistence, taken a month of absent into the wilderness, for his health. According to Tirtha and Terra-27, the wheezing and coughs had been caused by stress brought on by extreme wild-longing.

This had prompted Martin to do further research on the subject, leading to some rather interesting finding, including that wild-longing was not, as most believed, a personality trait. It was a Hunter's Light that compelled them to the wilds, though all Light was attuned to developed patterns in parallel to its Guardian's pre-existing personality traits. It was one of the things that affected a Guardian's choice in class.

Martin, smiling, placed a hand near the top of her head, and brought it towards himself, where it marked her height on his chest.

"A whole foot doesn't care when it starts adding itself to its owner's height-weight ratio." he said. Silverhawk stuck her tongue out at him. He had, indeed, finally outgrown his best friend. And it felt good, too. So, naturally, he was going to bask in every glorious moment of this natural triumph. And he was going to be as smug as possible about it, too.

 _It's the Hunter personality traits rubbing off on me, I think. Maybe I_ should _try to hang out with other Warlocks..._

But, alas, he had already tried. With most of the people in his class. And all of them thought he was a weirdo. Maybe it was his sickly appearance earlier in their training years, or maybe it was because he was nervous and shy about talking to people who weren't Heather, or establishing a friendship.

Every time he tried to talk to someone, or start a conversation, or make it less awkward somehow, he just... found himself launching off into a scientific rant. And rather than join in his discussion, the other Warlock cadets just backed off, or he cut himself off before he could make things more awkward, and, red in the face, he would leave, with giggles and whispers audible behind him.

 _Not my fault I'm too smart for my own good..._ He had to use small words around Heather-or rather, Silverhawk- and he was always hoping to meet a Warlock initiate who went off in the conversation with him rather than looking at him awkwardly and thinking ' _wow, that is not normal social behavior, what is with this guy, does he have some sort of mental irregularity or does he have no social interaction experience with people who aren't hyperactive, emotionally-challenged impossible hybrids?'_

He was, to put it simply, sick of it.

Suddenly, a force crashed into him from behind.

"SORRY! I'M A LOPSIDED KELP FACE FOR CRASHING INTO YOU!" someone yelled in his ear, trying to steady him on his feet. Silverhawk laughed, catching the newcomer off-guard.

Stable on his feet, trying to calm his pounding heart, Martin realized it was one of the Titan recruits. He was tall; taller than Martin, by a few inches at least. He had piercing, silver-colored eyes, and a thick lock of shiny, tawny hair that looked like it had several hair products in it.

His eyes fell on Silverhawk, laughing and smiling at him, and he ran his hair through his hair, a small grin on his face.

"Well, as far as lopsided kelp-faces go, you look like you stepped out of the salon at the right moment!" she said. Was it just Martin, or was that a tinge of red in the other boy's face? Did he look... afraid?

"Oh, well I only undergo the finest seaweed wraps in the City; wrong technique, makes my back itch, and then I look like I'm sun-burned. I mean, I like to think of myself as blazing and all; just not overcooked." the boy explained, running his hand through his hair again, smiling. Was it just Martin, or did it seem both forced and natural at the same time?

"'Blazing'? Huh. I like that." Silverhawk pondered. She grinned up at him evilly. "I'm going to use that. Just, ah, make sure it's not copyright..."

"Ryan. Ryan Newton." he told her, holding out his hand. Silverhawk only hesitated for a moment before shaking it. He held it out for Martin, and he shook it reluctantly.

"Hello. I don't mind getting knocked into." he told him quietly, socially withdrawing. It wasn't something he could help; he just did it. Nervously, he added. "S-so long as you don't do it a whole lot, on purpose, I mean. N-not to say y-you would d-d-do it on purpose, b-but theoretically, i-if you _were_ that kind of person... I-I'm just going to shut up now."

"Meh." the Titan-to-be responded, shrugging. Martin wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad sign.

"I'm Silverhawk, and stutters here is Martin." his friend introduced. He cast her a glare at the tease.

"Alright, everyone ready!" Cayde boomed, cutting off their conversation. The last of the class had finished gathering. Martin, Silverhawk, and their new compatriot went over to where they were all crowding around the two Exos. Shiro-4 held up a hand cannon, blue and black.

"This," he told them all, "is the Renegade Mk.55. Usually, they're reserved for Guardians. However, recent events of years past have led to a consensus agreement between the Vanguard, that these guns will be lent to anyone planning an out-of-wall expedition; classes included."

Whispers of excitement rang through the clearing. Cayde spoke up, clapping to get their attention.

"I take it by now, you all know how to fire a gun? How to clip on a holster? How to be safe with a firearm?" nods from everyone present. "Okay, then. Everyone come up and grab a holster, strap it onto you. If you need reminding of how to do that, just ask me or Shiro."

One by one, they all went up and grabbed a waist holster. Martin felt a nervous tickle down his spine as he tightened the strap. He knew how to use a gun; he was just... really bad at it so far. He rarely hit his target in practice, and when he did, it was usually what one would call a flesh wound.

The only weapon he could be qualified as 'okay with', was a shotgun at this point. And hand cannons were NOT shotguns. _Just because they're giving me one, doesn't mean I'll have to use it._

Today, Cayde-6 and Shiro-4 were taking the second-year class out for the first in a series of basic, practical survival classes, one near a ridge just outside the City walls. Naturally, the Vanguard had implemented an 'always armed' policy for out of city trips, after what happened to Brask.

"And, we have a few special cases here. Apparently, some of you aren't attuned that much to small firearms. We have several alternatives filed based on class performance, could the following recruits come to me for a few moments?" Shiro announced. Martin perked up eagerly; he hoped he was on that list; he'd feel a lot safer with a shotgun than a hand cannon. "Can I get 'Ryan Newton', 'Sally Hardover', 'Martin Anton', and a… uh, 'Silverhawk'?"

There were a few snickers as the Exo stumbled over the unusual listing. He looked up, one brow plat raised.

"Uh, I find it imperative to remind you all, we need to use our real names in the sign-up lists." He requested, as the called students stepped forwards. Martin was a little confused that Silverhawk's name was called; she was great with hand cannons.

Ryan looked at Silverhawk slyly, quirking his eyebrows up and down as he spoke next, rather smoothly. "Looks like we're _both_ unique here, hybrid."

Martin's eyes went wide as he realized what was going on, and if he'd been drinking something, he would have spat it out rather comically. _Is he_ flirting _with her!?_

And she seemed to roll along the banter quite well, actually, as Martin fell in behind them, mouth hanging open.

"Don't think you're so special, striker boy; you may be blazing, but even fire doesn't play with lightning." She smirked cockily, putting on a burst of arc-assisted speed, practically blinking to Shiro's station.

"Hey!" the Hunter barked. "No arc running without a blade! You're going to start a fire!"

"And the fire, has arrived." Ryan slid up to the table, flirtatiously quirking his eyebrows while Silverhawk leant with one fist on her hip, the other supporting her on the table, one of her signature cocky smiles on her face. Martin stood a few feet away, too shocked to say anything, and completely at a loss for what to do, jaw agape.

"Newton?" Shiro held up a scout rifle with a tag on it, and placed it on the table. "Just write your name on the tag, your full real name, so we can log it when it's brought back to the Tower."

"Hardover?" He called, looking around. A blond, shrimpy-looking girl with thick-rimmed glasses and more freckles than could be counted finally worked her way out of the crowd, and Shiro set down the lightweight sidearm he'd been holding. Martin forced his legs to move, trying to ignore the banter that Silverhawk and Ryan were shooting at each other.

In all the years, Silverhawk had been seen many ways; wild, insane, egoistic, arrogant, swaggalishious(according to one boy), and possibly in need of mental treatment, but never had he heard of her being attractive. Of course she _was_ attractive; _very_ attractive. He'd be lying if he said he'd never crushed on her before(several months of awkward), but he'd never seen any boy take romantic interest in her.

He didn't know much about Ryan; he'd seen the recruit from time-to-time, but hadn't heard of him much; he was training as a Titan. He thought he remembered someone mentioning a 'crazy Titan recruit' blowing up a whole cart of pumpkins with solar light. If that had been Ryan, it would mean he had a rare affinity with fire that might put him on course to become the first City-loyal Sunbreaker in a while.

 _That would make two special graduations in our class._ According to Silverhawk, there was Hunter recruit who was displaying an attunement to the void. If trained right, they could be the youngest Nightstalker since Lady Perun herself. _If Saladin still took apprentices, he'd have snatched them up to train as Iron Lords by now._

Since the building of the Last City, the succession of the Iron Lords had always followed as the previous generation training a leader for the new one, and then training those that the new leader picked. After Radegast's and all previous generations had been wiped out by Rasputin and SIVA, the grief-stricken Saladin had waited, it was said, five or more years before choosing Ashraven as the leader of the Iron Wolves.

However, since her and her generation's deaths at the Battle of Blackpeak during Twilight Gap, Lord Saladin had ceased training and choosing those that would succeed him. He had been training Shaxx and Zavala right before The Gap, but the Iron Wolves deaths had resulted in a two year long absence from the last Iron Lord. Shaxx's title was honorary in nature, as he'd never taken The Oath, and Zavala would posses the same title if he weren't Vanguard Commander.

Some said Saladin's lack of apprentices was grief-based; that the loss of his own generation, combined with the loss of Ashraven's, had simply been too much. That it had broken him. Martin felt compelled to agree with them.

"Anton?" Shiro called. He looked down at Martin as he approached, and blinked at him, holding up a shotgun. He hesitated before handing it to the Warlock trainee. "Try not to shoot your eye out."

Martin gulped, setting the weapon down and trying not to picture his brains getting blown out through his eye. He wrote his name down on the tag, and took a deep breath, making sure the safety was on. Meanwhile, Shiro looked confusedly at Silverhawk.

"Chancellor, I don't have a weapon here for you." Silverhawk tensed when he used her true last name, and Martin looked at the Exo intensely, gouging whether or not he might recognize it. _He must have looked up her real name._

But the Exo didn't look like he recognized Subject Zero's name. Perhaps he hadn't worked at the Certech facility she'd been kept at? Or perhaps, he'd died before she arrived? He just looked annoyed his time was being wasted.

"I've got it! Silverhawk, a moment in private, please?" Cayde called, waving her over. She nodded, and Martin watched her part.

"I shall wait for you here, my dearest love!" Ryan called after her.

"Go jump in a lack of Thrall spit, Newton!" Silverhawk called over her shoulder playfully, Martin practically being able to hear the eye roll in her voice. She followed Cayde to the edge of the woods, where they began to speak with their backs turned to the rest of the class.

Ryan let out a deep breath, leaning backwards against the table as Shiro left to make sure everyone else was prepped. Martin looked at him.

"Man, she's... well, she was _nothing_ like I expected her to be like." he exclaimed, running his hand through his hair. he looked pleased, but also terrified, in a strange way that didn't feel like it had anything to do with meeting a girl. Martin narrowed his eyes, breaking down the context of his speech.

"You bumped into me on purpose, didn't you? As an excuse to talk to Silverhawk and say something ridiculous that gets her attention?" he deduced. Ryan looked at him nervously.

"Uhh... yeah. Sorry?" he offered.

"It's okay." Martin looked back at his gun, focusing on loading it, one bullet at a time, slowly and carefully. "You could have asked her up front, though. Someone like you, I wouldn't expect you to have trouble with getting a girl's attention."

"Well..." Ryan started. "She's a pretty unique girl. Not to say I've never dated before(because I can't even give you a number, to be honest), but with her... I don't know. I've never been scared of talking to a girl before, but that sister of yours... she's really... something else."

"What were you expecting, by the way?" Martin asked, pausing in loading his weapon to looked at the Titan-to-be with his head tipped to the side.

"Something a bit more menacing, to put it shortly." the other young man answered, eyes darkening for a fraction of a second. "I mean, a hybrid and everything! That's never happened before! What would her kids look like?!"

Martin looked back at his gun, letting out a grunt in response. Silverhawk was infertile.

It was true, his best friend was sterile; but not because of her being a hybrid. After several years, Terra-27 had finally debunked the secret of Heather's deathtouch partway, and Cayde had read her in on the secret. They had discovered signs of artificial sterilization; Certech was the reason Heather couldn't have kids, even if her deathtouch was ever cured. She had never spoken of having children, but he could still tell it had hurt her to hear the news.

 _Just another way Certech has made all our lives_ so _much better._ He thought with dry anger.

"Okay, everybody gather around!" Shiro called from a fallen log. Everybody flocked to him, Silverhawk joining back up with Martin with a pleased expression on her face as Cayde went up to join Shiro.

"Alright; who knows what a Mistbird is?" Cayde asked. Silence all around, but Martin's mind was screaming in delight, and his hand shot up.

"Young man in the back, there?" Shiro selected.

"Mistbirds are an endangered cousin species of the long-extinct Ahamkara." He blurted out excitedly. "Unlike the Ahamkara, however, they are generally docile, incapable of telepathy, and do not possess the higher intelligence and powers the Ahamkara had. Sadly, their close relation to Ahamkara has resulted in a general taboo about them, and they are often hunted by Guardians looking to make a profit off of "Ahamkara" bones."

"Correct-a-mundo!" Cayde congratulated. "Now, Mistbirds are flock animals, and friendly enough to a gentle Guardian. They tend to avoid normal people, though. Mistbirds have a natural attraction to Light, which is why they're much more open to trust Guardians. Martin, can you tell me how Mistbirds were used in the early Dark Age?"

"Aerial transport by the original Iron Lords." He answered mechanically. _Too easy!_ "Since ships were rare and small in number, the Iron Lords tamed Mistbirds to carry them places on-planet."

"Correct again!" Cayde chirped. He fingered a sort of long whistle. "Now, we've got a flock or two that like to flap around the mountains nearby; like I said, they're attracted to Light, and to them the Traveler is like a magnet. If you would follow Shiro and I, we're going to be spending the first part of our evening getting to know these lovely avians."

This was met with excited whispers and exclamations.

"Sweet! Mistbirds! Do you think they'll let us ride one?" Ryan exclaimed, eyes glinting.

"Cayde might." Martin shrugged. "But Shiro-4 seems a little more tightly bound to the rules than he is."

"Meh, I got no interest in flying anyway. At least, not without a ship." Silverhawk said, placing her hands behind her neck in a relaxed manor. Martin blinked slowly at her in acknowledgement. She couldn't ride the Mistbirds even if she wanted to; she'd kill the poor animal. _Stupid Certech!_

As a group, the class followed the two Hunters deeper into the woods, farther up the ridge, away from the City. Pine needles crunched under boots, and the air was crisp with the smell of evergreens and sap. Birds sang in the distance, and a careful ear could find the sounds of claws scraping against bark as a Squirrel climbed up a tree.

Eventually, they came to a small clearing, near a dried riverbed, and Cayde and Shiro stopped.

"Alright!" Shiro called, both Exos turning towards them. "Everybody stand near the edge of the woods. We don't want to frighten them; they are usually gentle, but they're still large animals, and we don't want anybody getting hurt by accident."

Obediently, the group backed up, Silverhawk distancing herself from the crowd a little more to avoid touching someone with her face by accident. Cayde brought the whistle up, and blew through it. Martin's ears strained, but he couldn't hear anything. _It must be on a frequency only the Mistbirds can hear._

"Just you watch; every wild dog and wolf in a mile's reach is going to come through here and tackle him." Ryan whispered humorously, causing Silverhawk to snicker, and Martin to roll his eyes.

Aside from that, the class stood and waited in silence. The minutes ticked by. Cayde started to fidget, and Silverhawk was similarly restless.

"Hey, Martin? Check this out." She whispered, leaning towards him, as Cayde began to finger his knife impatiently. She lifted her renegade out of her holster slightly. He blinked, confused.

"What about it? And what was it with the whole list thing, anyway?" he asked in a hushed voice so that Ryan, who was attempting to prompt a caterpillar to walk off a twig and into Andyosa Kvvrya's hair, wouldn't overhear.

"Cayde said Brask left it for me. Renegade's are a bit of a Hunter thing. Usually the first thing they shoot with when they get out into the wilds for the first time. This one's mine to keep." She whispered. Martin reached down, and let his fingers brush the grip of the gun. The gun Brask had left for his friend. _He can't have had it long before he died. I hope it'll serve heather as well as he thought it would._

Suddenly, a high, fluxuating call rang through the air. Excited voices rose in the air as the sound of flapping wings became clearer. Cayde and Shiro backed off, and about three Mistbirds, with two fledglings in two, landed in the clearing.

They had four legs, all ending in scaly, taloned feet. Their bodies were covered in feathers, and their long necks ended in a narrow, beaked head with a crest of larger plumage sprouting out the back for the males, and a patch of shorter, red feathers for females, the head structure similar to what he'd seen in fossils of the Titanis predator family. A fan of tail feathers like a swift's sprouted out of their behinds, but a narrow, whip-like "second tail" grew out just beneath it, ending in a fan of feathers. Their eyes were dark and doleful, and they came in colors ranging from pale green-gray, to a gray-blue, to an odd, almost salmon pink color on one female. They each had four wings, one set below the other, like a dragonfly.

The leader looked around when it landed, head tilting and swiveling to take in the Exos and their charges. It bowed its head down next to Cayde, and the Bladedancer pat it on the side of its beak affectionately. The Exo only came up to the massive creature's shoulder. The other Mistbirds were tentatively beginning to investigate the rest of the class.

"Now, all of you, approach one slowly, but try not to crowd around it. Like I said, we don't want to frighten them. Be mindful of the fledglings, they can get a bit rough, but try not to hurt them. They don't understand to be gentle with soft-fleshed creatures." Shiro informed them all. "Remember, these are flock animals; don't freak out if one starts nipping your hair; he's just grooming you, it's a sign of affection. These creatures trust Guardians easily; do try not to betray that trust. Go ahead; we'll have half an hour with them."

With that, the approaches began. Martin almost immediately caught the attention of one of the rowdy youngsters. It's head only came up to his shoulder, but it bounded up to him, sticking its beak in his face and sniffing him excitedly, long tail whipping and lashing behind it. Martin immediately felt apprehensive about this. He didn't like rowdy animals; that was why he was a cat person.

"Uh, hello, there. Mistbird." He tried to pat it on the head, but it kept jerking around like an over-excited dog, kept opening its beak in the direction of his hand like he was going to bite it. _I wonder if this is his first time meeting a person?_ Martin thought as he jumped back fearfully as the youngster rose onto his back legs and tried to plant its fore claws on his shoulders, chittering excitedly like a foal. Martin stumbled and fell onto the ground. _Oh dear!_

He almost instinctively reached for his shotgun, but instead sat stock still, shoulders hunched, eyes shut tight and body stiff as the young Mistbird came down on top of him. He yelped as it bunted him in the chest with his head playfully, but with too much force. A reprimanding growl stopped the fledgling in its track as it stood poised to pounce, and it blinked up at the approaching adult.

It nudged him away with its head, growling softly some more, and then rubbed its beak against Martin apologetically, a softer, friendlier tone vibrating in its throat. Martin blinked, forcing his heart rate to steady itself as he reached up and rubbed the adult Mistbird's head. The juvenile made a complacent noise, and the two exchanged a back and forth conversation of clicks and rumbles.

Meanwhile, the rest of the class was getting along well with the other Mistbirds. Rather than be afraid of the other fledgling, Ryan was obliging the other young one's rough housing. At least, until he took a talon to the cheek, causing the young one's guardian to pick it up by the base of the neck and carry it to a nearby tree for what could have been the Mistbird equivalent of a time out for being too rough.

The adult apologized to Ryan the same way the other one had done for Martin, but the Titan-to-be seemed quite proud of the wound, calling it his first battle scar, before someone reminded him, to his disappointment, that Guardians didn't scar. Cayde and Shiro were chatting with one another about something, Cayde absentmindedly petting the head of the Mistbird that had curled up for a nap nearby, ignoring the class completely.

But soon, Martin's eyes found Silverhawk, and he blinked in surprise when he saw she was moving away from the group, further up the riverbed, at a slow pace. He got to his feet, and gently pushed the Mistbird's head away, and began to follow her, glancing at Cayde. _He'll understand._ The Warlock trainee reasoned. It seemed as if being unable to participate with the Mistbirds was hitting Silverhawk harder than she'd let show. As much as he wanted to continue himself, Heather always came first.

He jogged to catch up with her, and narrowed his eyes in concern when he saw the blank expression on her face. She walked as if in a sort of trance, and she almost seemed scared.

"Heather?" she jumped, whirling around when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"It's S-Silverhawk." She corrected. The tone in her voice only heightened his worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked worriedly. She looked around slowly at their surroundings.

"Martin…" she said, voice choked and barely audible. "I recognize this place."

 _What?_ Immediately, his mind went to work trying to sort out the pieces, trying to solve the puzzle that had been place before him. He was about to speak, when she turned and tor off up the bank, scrambling up and running into the forest beyond.

"Heather!" he exclaimed, scrambling up after her. He dashed off in the direction she'd taken off in, barely managing to keep up.

"Heather, wait! Heather! Silverhawk!" he called as they ran farther and farther from the lesson. He skid to a halt, panting heavily, as they came out into a clearing, Silverhawk standing stock still as Westley hovered near her head, speaking. His breath left him completely when he saw what she'd stopped in front of.

 _What…_

Old wire fences had long since rusted away in a square around the base. The building was low-leveled, likely with many rooms beneath it, dirty and lost to time.

And stamped over the ancient double doors so rusty they'd half crumbled to dust, written in faded black letters…

 **CERTECH LABORATORIES**

"Heather…" He panted, shock roiling through him. This was the place… this was the place…

 _This is where they ruined Heather's life! Where they did all those horrible things to her…_

She stepped towards the facility stiffly.

"Heather, we should get out of here." He urged. _We shouldn't be_ here _!_ She _shouldn't be here!_

She ignored him, walking up to the place that had become her hell on earth, and kicking the rusty doors to make a hole for herself. He couldn't let her go… in _there_ alone.

He couldn't.

Gathering what little courage his cowardly body possessed, he followed after her. His tunic caught on the edges of the rust, and he panicked, jerking himself forwards. He fell to the ground, and yelped as a sharp edge cut his side. He clapped a hand over the spot, panting in his panic, and removed it to see that the cut wasn't as large or deep as he thought. It still hurt, thought, and he would probably need a shot since it was a dirty cut.

"Heather!" he hissed into the darkness of the Certech facility. Wheatly came out of his pocket, and his eye lit the room so that he could actually see the hallway that Westley's light had come from. He pushed himself to his feet, and carefully thought swiftly, caught up with his friend.

He came up to her side, and grabbed her wrist comfortingly. He could feel her heart pounding beneath the fabric of her gloves. _She shouldn't be here. Why re-open old wounds like this?_

Was there something she had to see? Some form of closure she had to achieve? The halls were empty and dirty, devoid of any sign a child had once been tortured monthly and daily here. Silverhawk halted as they came to a room with a dirty, hard glass screen that overlooked a room of complete, faded white. The material the other room seemed to be made of was unearthly looking.

"Pain room…" Silverhawk whispered in terror, shuddering, as Martin looked at her then back at the room with horror. _This was where…_

Silverhawk had described what Certech did to her several times. To the Hunters three, to their foster mother, to him, and everything she said about the process where she was brought into the "pain room" screamed 'radioactive injection' to him. He spent his free time studying her DNA from samples he'd taken discretely, de-bunking everything about Certech she'd ever told him about.

Silverhawk's very atomic structure was soaked in a strange form of short-range radiation. Because of her unique genetic makeup, the proteins bonded with the poisonous substance rather than withering out of existence, like it did whenever she touched someone or something. The pain room she described sounded like some sort of chamber used to inject the radiation into her.

But the problem was that surely, there was a limit to how much of this strange substance even she could take? There had to be some sort of counter-agent to the radiation, to keep her system from overloading…

He squeezed her hand. She stepped forwards. The room they were in now jutted out into the white room somewhat. The glass window gave a perfect view of where a little girl would lay screaming in agony. The floor creaked ominously as they approached the consoles that must have controlled the room below.

Martin looked closely at them, trying to compile a mental picture of how this cruel room must have worked. He let go of Silverhawk to scratched dust off the label of one lever. He shifted his weight ever so slightly… and felt the floor squish beneath him. His mind flew to several possibilities- mold, rust, side effects of the radiation- before the floor gave way beneath him with a terrifying sound he couldn't believe existed. He tried to grab the lever, to keep himself in the room, but the handle snapped off after he pulled it down.

He screamed as the room vanished and there was nothing but air around him, and his screaming hitched as he and the pieces of floor hit the ground in the white room with an almighty crash, agony lancing through his leg. A piece of metal hit him on the shoulder, and he winced with a whimper, curling in on himself, clutching his leg as fiery pain pulsed through him.

He blinked his eyes open with a groan when he felt something wet, and looking through blurred vision at his leg, he saw blood welling through the fabric of his pants. He moved his hands, and felt bone sticking out from under his skin. He thought he could hear Silverhawk calling from above panicedly, and his only response was a low whimper.

He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. Everything hurt, but _his leg_ … Suddenly, a dull alarm tone sounded throughout the facility. Silverhawk screamed his name, and the pieces fell together in his head despite the pain.

The lever he'd pulled. The pain room.

The radiation.

He tried to crawl to his feet, but the agony in his leg was so crippling, he couldn't make it two inches to the door that led out of the room. Suddenly, lighting streaked down the wall, and Silverhawk stumbled to a halt, falling on her side, after arc running down the wall with a metal pipe in her hand to simulate the blade needed to regulate her Light.

He blinked stupidly as she scrambled to her feet, rushed to his side, and pulled him up, and it was all he could do to remember not to touch her bare skin.

"West, hurry!" She called desperately up to the other room, where Westley had been left. She staggered under his weight, half-dragging half guiding him to the door. They were close when a loud blare sounded, and Silverhawk shoved him out the doorway right before it closed. He stumbled with a pained yelp, landing winded on his side as the way out was slammed shut behind him.

"Heather!" he called delusionally, panic setting in. Screaming started on the other side of the door.

"HEATHER!"

* * *

Cayde pat the lazy Mistbird repetitively. The spoiled beasts loved these lessons, and everyone could tell. Shiro was… occupied. As in, one of the fledglings had sat itself down on his stomach and was sunning itself in stubborn refusal to move.

The Mistbirds didn't possess the same intellect as their brutal Ahamkara cousins, but they were still smart enough to know Exos couldn't be harmed by accident as easily like the other, fleshier humanoids, so the youngling's guardian was doing nothing about it. The other Hunter lay on the ground with his arms crossed grumpily. Cayde smirked with satisfaction, and Skank appeared next to him.

"Cayde, Silverhawk's Ghost is trying to contact me on emergency channels." He reported urgently. Immediately, his head shot up. He scanned the area around him carefully, and something seized up deep within him when he realized she and Martin were both missing. _Oh, dear light, why didn't I notice!_

"What is it?" he asked, fear rising in him.

"Martin's injured and Heather's… I don't know what in the world he's describing, but it's bad, and he's saying… he's saying not to bring Shiro." The tiny AI re-communicated.

"Can you get a lock on them?" he demanded.

"They're not far, I get lead you to Westley."

"Shiro!" He called. The other Hunter looked up, sensing the panic in his voice. "Keep everyone here, don't come after me, and for pete's sake tell that animal who's boss; you look ridiculous!"

With that, he ran off after Skank, hoping his last-moment injection of humor would fend off any serious questions. His Ghost led him deeper into the woods, eventually to a clearing with an old rusted building, stamped…

With the word "Certech". Pieces fell into place in his head. _She was found just outside the City… this must be the place! Oh, by the Traveler, why did I have to choose_ this _venue for the class!_

He rushed into the building, following after Skank, who led down several hallways and a flight of stairs. A few hallways more, and he no longer needed the Ghost; he could hear Martin crying out deliriously from some point beyond.

He ran forwards and turned the corner, fear pounding through him, to find the young man slumped against a shut door, a blood pooling beneath his right leg, which had a rough strip of cloth from his tunic tied around it. _Damn it!_ He was at his side in an instant, reaching around for the med pack on his belt.

Martin whimpered as he ripped his pants around the wound, and he quickly sprayed the disinfectant over it before hastily wrapping it tightly. Suddenly, the door clicked, and then opened, revealing a distraught Westley…

And Silverhawk, curled on the floor in agony. _No!_ He squeezed Martin's shoulder before rushing to her side. She let out a low moan of pain, and he froze in horror when he saw faint black markings on her neck, and didn't know what to think when he noticed half her hair, from the base of her scalp, had been turned stark white, eating away at the years she'd spent growing it to rid herself of the color that had marked her as Certech's test subject. He shook her shoulder.

"Heather? Heather! Silverhawk!" He took his glove off, and found that she was icy to the touch, and he felt a strange sort of… energy pulsing beneath his metallic fingers. Something that promised death to all things organic and living. He looked around for some kind of answer, but was met only with a dirty white wall made of strange material.

"It was some kind of radiation; the same kind as her deathtouch, it was only on for a split second before I managed to turn it off..." Westley told him, panic high in his voice. Cayde took off his cloak and wrapped it around the fallen recruit's shoulders. He looked back at Martin. How could he possibly get them both out of here?

"Come on, up you get." he tried to pull his apprentice to her feet. She let out a sort of strained wail, and he fell back to his knees, lowering her. She buried her face in his chest with a choked sob.

"Hey now, shush." he comforted. "It's going to be fine. Terra's going to have a long look at you, and this'll be in the past again in no time."

Her next words were muffled sobs that he couldn't make out, so he just kept his arms tight around her. He looked up at the white room, as a deep feeling of rage he'd never felt before rose up inside of him. He wanted to throw Silverhawk behind him and scream at this terrible place as if it would go away if he were loud enough.

This was _his_ apprentice. _His_ charge. His... his family. And Certech had _dared_ to put her through this. He knew it had been bad. But seeing what even the smallest dose of this awful room did to her hit home. He wanted to lock her away and hide her from the monsters. He wanted to go out and make sure the people who did this disintegrated on the edge of his arc blade.

He wanted to keep her as far away from Shiro-4 as possible.

"H-Heather?" Martin's strained whimper brought him back from his bloodlust fantasies. The young man was leaning, shaking, against the doorway, gaze dull and confused, keeping the weight off his bad leg. He pulled his apprentice to her feet, ignoring the pained whimpers that escaped her as he did so, and, keeping her close by his side, walked up to Martin.

"Here." He got up on Martin's side, and Silverhawk's adoptive brother wrapped one arm over his shoulders. Supporting both of them the whole way up would have been a daunting trial for any normal person, but as it stood, he was and Exo.

He didn't think Martin would make it much farther than the entrance, once they reached the rusted doors to the nightmarish compound. He didn't want to leave them alone, but there was no way he could get them both to safety in the states they were in, especially in a way that Shiro didn't notice what happened to Silverhawk.

But it seemed as if his problem had solved itself.

The Mistbird that had been napping near him earlier had followed him, and it raised its head as he appeared with the others, and blinked dolefully at them. _Thank the Traveler these guys are smart! Or at least hate being left behind._

It tipped its head with a soft, high-pitched dolphin-like noise; the call of a distressed Mistbird. He approached it, but as he came nearer, it reared its head, flaring its top set of wings. _It must sense she's dangerous._

"Look, I'll be careful with her; you won't get hurt." He promised, hoping it understood what he was saying. Mistbirds were smart; incredibly smart. It wouldn't surprise him if they could understand English a little, or at least get what they were saying.

The Mistbird flicked its head, but settled down, laying itself flat. Cayde blinked, trying to figure out how to get both of them onto it's back while keeping Silverhawk from making skin contact.

As if it could sense this conflict, the Mistbird nudged Martin's arm off Cayde's shoulder, and picked him up by the back of his tunic before he could collapse, lifting him onto it's back. Cayde pat it gratefully on the head before climbing up its wing with Silverhawk. Westley was murmuring comfortingly to his companion, hovering near her neck, clicking and whirring.

"Skank, contact Shiro." He asked. His Ghost nodded, and established a comm link.

"All yours, Cayde." Skank said.

"Shiro, Silverhawk and Martin wondered off a bit, took a bit of a tumble. Silverhawk fell in a river, Martin's leg is broken; we're riding a Mistbird back to the Tower, continue the lesson without us." He said, hoping the other Exo wouldn't sense the strain in his voice.

 **"** **Will do; the rest of the flock is acting a bit skittish, we heard a distress call. Take care of those recruits, Cayde— no, Newton you cannot go with them. They're already on route."** Shiro said. Cayde nodded his head at Skank, and the Ghost cut the comms. He pat the Mistbird on the side of the neck, and it rose, spreading it's wings.

He kept one arm wrapped around Silverhawk, and held Martin to the Mistbird's back with his free hand. He'd gone ominously still, but was still breathing. _Must have lost a lot of blood…_ he thought, remembering how much of it he'd seen in the hall and the white room.

The Mistbird lifted into the air, and he thought he could see the class down below when they flew over them. Its flight was smooth, almost considerate. To think, perhaps the gentlest creatures alive were predators? It was ironic. The yin to the Ahamkara's yang, the other side of the genetic family tree.

He just hoped it could fly fast enough.

* * *

Silverhawk lay in her bed with Terra tending her. The Exo's facial plates were creased with concern in an almost perfect mirror of what Cayde looked like as he leaned against the doorway. Birding had run off to go check on Martin, who had needed a blood transfusion and treatment for shock.

Terra sighed and stood up. She looked at him hopelessly.

"By my scans and professional opinion, there's nothing that can be done for her. The dose was small enough that it should fade given time. The only thing for her is rest, and time." She shook her head. "Irradiating children; what were they thinking?"

"That they could have the perfect weapon." He answered darkly, gaze not leaving the fallen teen. He felt a hopelessness he'd never felt before. This was _his_ apprentice that was down like… _this_. Was this what Brask had felt like, when Tevis had his face shoved in an acidic geyser?

"I'll get an IV down here; I'd imagine she won't have much of an appetite." Terra told him, clasping a hand on his shoulder as she walked out. "You should go report to Ikora before she looks too deeply into what happened. She'll be wondering about Martin."

He nodded numbly. _Damn Certech._ He felt helpless. He let out a deep sigh, and left to feed Ikora the same river story he'd told Shiro.

* * *

It was night by the time Cayde decided he needed to visit Tevis before he went crazy. He strode for the elevator with a quick pace, hoping the sight of his godson might be able to cheer him up for a few brief moments.

He reached for his knife instinctively as someone slammed into him, pressing him against the wall. He found himself looking into the angry eyes of Shiro-4.

"Cut the Thrall spit, Cayde." He snarled. "There are no rivers out there. What _really_ happened?"

"None of your business." He snapped back outright, shoving the other Exo off of him, glaring. "Silverhawk and Martin don't want it on record."

"Like I'm going to believe that." Shiro snapped back. Was it just him, or was there a quake in the Gunslinger's voice that sounded like he was afraid? _He'd better be._ Cayde thought darkly. Shiro had worked with Certech. With those monsters. "Martin's in the infirmary. Where's Silverhawk, huh? You said she was hurt, or was that another lie?"

Alarm bells blared in his head.

"She's home, where she belongs." He wondered if Shiro would disintegrate if he glared at him hard enough?

"You have no right to hide her if she needs treatment."

"I have every right to protect her secrets! Stay out of it."

"She's not you daughter, Cayde!"

"Stay. Out." He shoved Shiro to the ground, voice filled with venom, his internal mechanics pounding inside him. The Exo's words had made something blaze inside of him, and he could feel his arc Light pressing against him, longing to escape and go after his fellow Hunter. It was all he could do not to discharge by accident and cause a level-wide blackout.

He turned on his heels and stormed to the elevator, ignoring the Exo and his deathly glare. He didn't feel like seeing Tevis and Andal anymore. He wanted to go home and throw a table. Maybe a chair or two. It wouldn't be hard; he was an Exo.

"You're playing with fire, Cayde." Shiro called after him as he walked through the doors. He glared as they closed.

"Then I'm winning the game."

* * *

 **Dang! Cayde-6 intensifies!**

 **man, things have been really quite on here since I posted Wolfsbane... I'm blaming my poor judgment for posting on election day. Nobody was reading fanfiction, they were watching the polls. And then the liberals curled up in the fetal position with despair, and the Republicans fainted with relief, and I was just sitting there staring at the empty spot where the review count should have been. And things still haven't picked up; some people must still be despairing, or rioting, and others might still be getting stupid drunk because they're so happy.**

 **This is the longest chapter since Braks died, which was... oh. that was only two chapters ago. Time flys when you haven't posted in a while! I got caught up in festival of the Lost, and then I started playing Mass Effect, and then Iron Banner came along...** **Since I was playing Mass Efect, I was totally off my game during my rank 5 playthrough with my Hunter. For those of you who don't know, Mass Effect is a sci-fi third person shooter. Destiny is a first person shooter, and I was totally thrown off by the transition, combined with the fact my Hunter is the agile thing alive, and Commander Shepard can't maneuver for Thrall spit. I totally killed it with my Warlock though; I'd re-adjusted again by the time I started with her.**

 **Not I'm going to die a lot in Mass effect because I'll keep expecting my character to roll with b,b. Shepard rolls with a,a. Oh, by Variks' waffles, let the nightmares begin. For those of you who play Mass Effect, no, I don't think I'll be playing Andromeda; I've become very attached to Garrus and Tali and I don't think I can play a Mass Effect game without them.**

 **And I am again, SO SORRY that it took so long to post this! The next chapter, for certain, should come faster; it's shorter than this.**

 **Order and Chaos: Miracle of Sound? I've never heard of it.**

 **alienraptor: In the game, or in this fic?**

 **Guest: I got the smurf thing from InDarkestTunnel's _Eliksni Alone_ fic. And to be perfectly honest with you... I have no idea how that some goes either. At some point it sounded kinda like can-can, but then I didn't know anymore because it became so random. Maybe it has no tune on purpose, to add to the ridiculousness of it?**

 **Kinda Late: yeah, I wish there was an option in the strike to grab his own scorch Cannon and shoot him with it, in stages, like in a Zelda game. Raids are kind of like Zelda dungeons on steroids, in my opinion.**

 **Tales of a Voidwalker: They are all my lovelies. the feels, the fluff; all of them.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Skorri is blazing! I think you spelled Westley wrong, LoL. I woke myself up an hour early by accident the other day because I forgot to set my clock back... I consumed for too much soda that is healthy.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Raven of the Realm, those guys are great! Order and Chaos pointed me towards them.**

 **Who's excited for Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? Amberstar and I are totally watching it; she even updated her pottertrek thingy to celebrate.**

 **And here we have Cayde-6 feeling very paternal this evening. And Silverhawk's love interest; oh my! There was a sane version of Ryan, once upon a time... before I realized if her love interest wasn't as crazy as she was, it wouldn't work out because she's so reckless and it would drive them apart. I'm hoping to capture your hearts with him, though!**

 **Let me know what you thought of Ryan, the Mistbirds, Cayde, and waffles. Never forget the waffles. This waffle thing is going a bit far...**

 **Next Time: Martin and Silverhawk become Guardians at last.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	10. 18

**_"I swear, they could discover we're all just a bunch of bees in a trench coat and they'd just be like 'figures'."_** **\- Aiden( _It'll be Fun)_**

"I can't believe it! It's finally here! Six years and it's finally happening!" the over-excited Westley said again, spinning and looping around the room.

"Yeah. Finally." Wheatly said forlornly. "Goodbye days of peace and sanity. I don't think we'll last a week."

"Wheatly." Martin chided from by the mirror, where he was adjusting his collar. "You're being negative again."

With forlorn sigh, the Ghost floated over to the window, and materialized several bits of glimmer into the "Negativity Jar", which was very full.

"Alright, are you two ready yet?" Birding asked, coming into the room. Even in flowing dress robes, their foster mother still looked like she ate greenhorns for breakfast. Stately, severe, russet auburn hair tied back in a business-like bun. They were two of the very few people who knew her gentle side.

"Yup!" Silverhawk chirped, adjusting her ceremonial cloak around her neck. Dark blue, with gold edges. The Hunter equivalent to a graduation fezz. Birding smiled, but it turned into a frown when her eyes landed on Martin, who's robes were a bit big for him; it always seemed like they could never find cloths in his size.

She walked forwards, and pulled his hands away from the collar, adjusting it herself.

"Ugh, mom!" he protested, trying to back away.

"Hold still, Martin. You look a mess with this collar." She grumbled pulling him back towards her. He looked at Silverhawk helplessly, and she grinned.

It had taken a whole month before she had felt well enough to train again. Another month more until the radiation had faded completely. When it was all through, she'd looked like Martin had after his sick period. In fact, the story they'd gone with was that she'd been severely ill.

And he could honestly say that his first real wound had _sucked_. He hoped nothing like that would happen to him on patrol. If being shot hurt as much as it was said to, he _really_ didn't want to get shot. Unfortunately, Warlocks were statistically more likely to get shot than Hunters, and the wounds were usually far more severe than they would be for Titans, with all their plating and thick weaves protecting them.

All he had was a set of robes that used his Light as light armor.

Silverhawk picked up the agonizingly bright red fedora she had 'liberated' from a trash heap, and placed it on her head, holding out her arms and smiling widely. _"Well?"_

"No, Heather. Just… no." he said, shaking his head and trying to keep himself from cracking up. Birding looked behind herself at her foster daughter, and sighed in exasperation.

"If you wear that to the ceremony, I'm taking away your Sparrow privileges." She warned. Silverhawk grinned at her.

"But I'm a certified adult, and I need my Sparrow for patrols." She said smugly. Birding narrowed her eyes witheringly.

"Hey, Martin, do you think we'll kill Hive, or Fallen on our first patrol?" Westley asked, coming to a stop for the first time that morning, near Silverhawk's shoulder.

'What do you mean 'we'? Silverhawk and I are the ones doing the shooting and running." He pointed out. The Ghost let out a choked noise, and Silverhawk grabbed him with both hands as if to cover his ears.

"Martin!" she gasped with mock exasperation, pulling Westley close. "How could you?! Ghosts have feelings, too!"

"Mommy, he hurt me." Westley whimpered, and she cradled him close to her chest.

"Shh, shhhh. There, there." She told him gently, before looking up at Martin fiercely. "Shame upon thee and thy descendants!"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"For two years, you have trained, studied, and prepared yourselves to join the most elite group of solders in human history." The Speaker said from the podium. Below him, the three Vanguards were spread out. In front of each of them was a crowd of recruits, standing tall.

The sun shone bright and warm down on them all, and the Traveler hung serenely over the Consensus Hall down far below in the Last City. Silverhawk stood as Tall as she could. Beside her, with the Warlocks, Martin looked like he might explode. This meant a lot to him; he almost didn't make it here, because of his stunted Light. She smiled, and pulled her red fedora out from behind her cloak, affixing it to her head.

Martin rolled his eyes, and focused back on the Speaker.

"For two years, you all, revived and life-chosen, have put your very souls into reaching this day. Some of you have endured hardships." His head seemed to face in Martin's direction." But you have endured none the less. We are what remains of the Light. We will always endure."

"Today, your trials and training are no more. You are not students, but new teachers. You are not recruits, but greenhorns. Today… you are Guardians."

The uproar that followed those words was tremendous. She screamed as loud as her heart was content to. _OH MY WAFFLES WE'RE FINALLY HERE!_ She wasn't certain if she screamed that out loud or not.

When people finally settled down, Zavala started calling up his Titans. A red and silver plated Exo walked up pridefully, took off his plain ceremony mark, and the Vanguard Commander folded it and set it aside before clipping a new Stoneborn order mark to the new Guardian's belt. He clapped a hand on the Exo's shoulder with a rare smile.

On his far right, Ikora was doing something similar with her Warlocks, and there was a short scuffle up the front among the Hunters as to who went first. When it soon came time for her to go up, she looked to her side to see Ryan receiving his Mark from Zavala. He caught sight of her as he turned to leave, and he winked flirtatiously at her.

She rolled her eyes and faced the front again. He'd meet up with her and Martin occasionally. The three of them would talk, he would flirt with her, then he'd declare the nearest girl to be his next and latest date, and run off to(unsuccessfully) attempt to woo her. The sport was odd, but fun.

She was called up, and her smile would blow her face up if it got any bigger as she stopped in front of Cayde and undid the clasp on her cloak. He threw it in a growing, haphazard pile nearby, and, smiling that odd, Exo smile of his, threw the new cloak over her shoulders and closed the clasp.

"You job is to protect the city. Look better than the Warlocks." He added slyly, patting her on the shoulder with a wink. "But don't look like your trying."

"Aye, Aye, cap'n!" she saluted. She turned, feeling like she might literally have a heart attack right then and there, and saw Martin looking like he was about to faint as Ikora affixed the gray bond to his arm. She rolled her eyes, and joined the Hunters.

When all was said and done, Zavala took up the Speaker's place on the podium. He cast Cayde's haphazard cloak pile a withering look, and the Exo stood smugly as if he hadn't noticed it. When next she glanced at Martin, it was to see him rubbing his new bond in awe and shock, as if unable to believe it was his, as if someone might run up and take it away from him at any moment.

"Now, you are defenders of our great City. But rest assured, none of you will spend your first half year alone. Starting tomorrow, you will all form fireteams of three, and be assigned to an older Guardian for the next six months. You will patrol the walls, and the wilderness beyond. You will fight on Mars. You will fight on Venus. You will fight on the edge of your Light. You will fight on the Earth itself. You will become the force this City sees as it's defenders. You will fight the Darkness… and you will win."

* * *

 **That quote, from MaybeALittleBroken's story... I just couldn't. It's too beautiful. And her fic is glorious; you should read it.**

 **alienraptor:? Just ? I was talking about what you said about Clovis Bray.**

 **jsm1978: She didn't start hiding her eyes until much alter on ; most people her age know she's a hybrid. It's the deathtouch they don't know about. Cayde may be a sarcastic comic, but as with Brask's death, he is capable of being serious. I'm scared I might not collect anough war funds in ME 3 and whoever I take with me in London's gonna die... I restarted with ME1 because 1(I hate Wreav. He's a jerk. 2(I want the Destiny Ascension for my war assets. And if you really think about it, surviving London and getting trapped on earth is the only true way to save Tali and Garrus, since they're dextro-amino and would likely starve to death on the planet the Normany crashes on. #whenyourhappyendingisreallyjustaslowerdeathforthecharactersyoulove.**

 **Guest: He _does_ have a serious side. There has to be some part of our Hunter that's serious as a heart attack, or else he wouldn't be good at avenging Brask...**

 **PerfectlyUseless: Cookie granted.**

 **Unfortunately, the chapter after next is the last I'll be able to post until Wolfsbane is finished. 15 Seconds isn't just a backstory; it tells of what happens after Wolfsbane. What happened to Lyse, Uldren, Sierra, the continuation of Martin's search for a deathtouch cure, further exploration of the Brask's Secret plot, all that lovely stuff. Drama abound. Action. Touch of romance. A fiery and heart-stopping betrayal. The whole shi-bang.**

 **The third chapter from now is where it get's real, folks.**

 **Next Time: Crota is dead, and Martin is allergic to Thrall.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	11. 19

**Quote of the Day: "One does not simply walk into Mordor."- Boromir**

* * *

"OH, SNAPPLE CRACKS!" Martin exclaimed, pressing himself against the wall as the dead vandal landed directly in front of him from above, narrowly missing getting crushed.

"Dude, that's my line!" Silverhawk protested from nearby, shooting a Thrall before it could claw her.

"I can say your line when I want! It's a company line, Silverhawk!" he yelled back, firing his shotgun repetitively. Fear and adrenaline pulsed through his fingers. It had been nearly over a year since they had become true Guardians, and Martin and Silverhawk were still getting used to the life of wandering and fighting the Darkness. Well… Martin was still getting used to it. Silverhawk fit into the routine like a foot snug in a shoe.

To be perfectly honest, this was his first time fighting the Hive. They had begun to reappear recently, and _good gosh_ , were the stories right about how _terrifying_ they were! He really, really hoped he never had to see a knight up close.

To make matters worse, now the two of them were caught in the crossfire of a Hive/Fallen battleground in the middle of Old Russia. It was possibly the scariest thing Martin had encountered yet this year, and he hoped he wouldn't see too much Hive after this, either.

The Fallen, he could fight okay with. He could easily pick off Dregs with his shotgun while Silverhawk was shooting them from a range. The Vex were creepy; he didn't like them, and his shotgun, when properly calibrated, could blast them to pieces if they got too close for comfort.

The Cabal… well, they had held off on visiting Mars, for his convenience; he just… didn't feel like he could handle Cabal yet.

But these Hive? They were the worst of the Darkness he'd ever encountered. The Fallen had a decrepit aura about them, like a sun that had been snuffed out and overtaken. The Vex knew only one thing, and moved with a dark purpose they knew not of. The Cabal were a wild factor, not directly Dark, like the others, but tainted in much the same way as the Fallen.

The Hive were nothing but shadows and whispers and rage let loose from the flames of hell itself. These creatures seemed to embody all that was Dark and unholy, all that was rot and despair.

And they scared him, right down to his feeble, stunted, little Light.

"Martin, I'm calling the 'Wibbly down!" Silverhawk called. After passing their piloting tests (him only barely managing to scrape by), they'd named their new ships the _Wibbly-Wobbly_ and the _Timey-Wimey_ , after an old Earth program they like to watch archives of.

"Good!" he called back, only for panic to flare through him as a Thrall loomed in front of him. He squeezed the trigger, but all that came from his shotgun was a click, and he screamed as the monster was upon him. Its claws sank into his shoulder before Silverhawk kicked it off of him, shooting it in the head to finish it off.

The sound of Silverhawk's ship breaking atmosphere filled the air.

"Martin, you okay?" she asked, voice laced with concern. Pain throbbed through the wound, and his chest felt oddly tight.

"No." he moaned, voice feeling strangely slurred. She grabbed his hand firmly, and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, dizziness crashing through him as his chest tightened. Something was wrong. _Very_ wrong. _It's just a flesh wound._ He told himself panickedly as Silverhawk steadied him on his feet, world swaying and spinning around him. _I shouldn't feel like this. It's just a flesh wound._

He fell to his knees, and Silverhawk was yelling at him through the haze that was clouding his brain, trying to drag him under. He couldn't breathe, sharp pains jerked through his abdomen, and his heart fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage. Respiratory arrest was the only thing he could think of that would do this… but what could be causing it was the real question.

 _Maybe the Hive have poison in their claws._ He thought as everything went dark.

* * *

" _Thrall_!? ARE YOU TELLING ME HE'S _ALLERGIC_ TO _THRALL_!?" Silverhawk screeched, startling everyone in the ward.

After he'd collapsed, she'd drug him on board the Wibbly-Wobbly, and, following Westley's instructions, shoved an oxygen tube down his throat. After transmatting him, literally onto Terra-27's front desk, he'd been treated for, according to her, anaphylactic shock… caused by the Thrall claw wound.

"Yes, that is _exactly_ what I'm telling you Silverhawk. Now stop yelling in may ward." Terra confirmed with an angry, low voice. Martin lay in the bed between them, the reaction having been countered. He was asleep with an oxygen mask feeding him extra air, and would, thanks to his Light, be fine enough in time for dinner the next day. Terra was currently stitching the claw wounds shut with a sterile needle, and Silverhawk had her back turned so she wouldn't have to see it piercing his skin each time she made a new stitch.

Needles were a thing of hers, and it wasn't just because of how many Certech had shoved under her skin. It was the actual 'under the skin' part that made her want to gag.

"Well, how are we supposed to fight Hive if he's allergic to _Thrall_? How is he supposed to be a Guardian if he can't fight Hive without an epi pen strapped to him?" she demanded.

"He can either quit, or I can get him a few pens and you two can try to avoid fighting in Hive-occupied areas as best you can." The Exo told her. Silverhawk bit her tongue. They hadn't had a scare like this since Martin broke his leg in half like a splintered tree the day of the Ridge incident. It always made her heart pound, always messed with her head, the thought of losing her brainless, sweet little Warlock. So smart and clueless at the same time; there was no way she could live without her partner in crime.

She didn't want to risk his life… but the thought of going into the field without Martin made her feel as insecure as a child without their woobie. They were joined at the hip since childhood; could she really fight without his voice in her ears? She decided she couldn't.

"How long will we have to wait for the pens?" she asked. She suppressed a shudder at the prospect of having to jam a needle through Martin's skin. But she needed him at her side.

"Give me a day or two. You two can relax and get look around the Tower while you wait; I hear Tevis' son turned four last week, and there are still celebrations going on for the Price twins." Terra said.

"Huh? Why?" She'd done a mission with them once or twice, and they had been the ones to do the exhibition she'd seen years ago. But she'd been rather… cut-off recently. They didn't receive news form their Ghosts; just orders. Ghosts didn't have access to major new networks in the city, not from how far out her and Martin had been.

"Those Hive risings that have been happening lately? The Price twins went to the moon last week, and killed Crota. Half the City still can't believe they did it all by themselves." Silverhawk's jaw dropped, and she whirled around to get in Terra's face.

"HOLD ON; HOW THE HECK DID OUR GHOSTS NOT HEAR ABOUT THIS!? FLIPPING _CROTA IS DEAD_ , AND WE _MISSED OUT ON THE PARTY_!?" She screamed. Westley came out of her hood, Terra glaring death at her for yelling in her ward.

"I swear, I had no idea!" he said. "Between the Hive and the Fallen, I could barely connect to our ship the past week!"

"OOOOOOHH! I am going to KILL CAYDE! HE could contact us!" she stormed away, considering buying a glass of lemonade on her way up, just so she could dump it on her mentor's head.

* * *

 **Silverhawk is not happy. And poor Martin is having another bad day. Don't worry; I'll do something cheerful with him in the next chapter.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Yup, he is. And don't worry; I'm suffering an incredible bout of lazyness as well. That, or I'm still recovering emotionally from having Mordin, Legion, and Thane dying in Mass Effect 3 in one sitting of gameplay. #Icriedforarobot**

 **alienraptor: Ah, well that clears things up. No, Clovis Bray is not still around. Though MAYBE it had some Certech connections...**

 **Get hyped for 2017! I just had two snow days in a row, so I'm a very happy Hunter. Amberstar is gaining Mass Effect fandom popularity with useless but fluffy and entertaining one-shots. She's also currently murdering people in Iron Banner. My guess? She just killed off Legion in ME and she's taking it out on her fellow Guardians. He's her favorite next to Garrus(*cough* sherestartedtheME2suicidemissionbecausesheaccidentlykilledGarrus*Cough*).**

 **Well, snow days, tragic plot, and vent Crucible rampages aside, we'll be meeting Variks next chapter!**

 **And since we're so close, I might as well offer a more detailed explanation; 15 Seconds, in the chapter after next, will continue at some point where Wolfsbane leaves off. The whole backstory thing with Martin and Silverhawk's childhood was more of an add-on if anything. It is possible to read chapter 13 and up without reading Silver and Martin's past, but it would confuse a few people eventually where Brask and Ashraven are concerned. And Martin has a lot of bad days coming up. Lets just say not every secret can be kept from everybody, and leave it at that, yes?**

 **Next Time: Variks and Martin meets for the first time, and everything begins.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	12. 20

**Quote of the Day: "I have not failed. I've successfully discovered 10,000 things that won't work." -Thomas Edison**

* * *

Variks pounded his fist on the device, and several parts skittered away, one flying out his tent, a yelp of pain following its flight as it hit some unlucky passerby in the head. Variks didn't care. He was too _angry_!

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get this hunk of metal to do as he wished. He was trying to build a large thermo-conductor, in a design to test in some scrapped ship someone said wouldn't work but someone else(namely, him) could make fly again given proper adjustments. But he couldn't figure out how to channel the heat properly. The exhaust heat compensator worked; but he just couldn't figure out where best to put it, where there was room to.

He growled softly to himself. _Can make it work._ Will _make it work._

He left the tent to find and pick up the piece that had flow out. He saw it laying, luckily enough, against the tent, having bounced off of the head of whatever unfortunate Awoken it had hit. He bent down to pick it up…

And froze as a scent he'd picked up only once before caught his attention. _Human!_ He stood bolt upright; four eyes scanning the crowd as they bustled about. News of the Queen's sickness traveled fast; people were out buying water, medicine, blankets, useless nick-knacks to make themselves feel better if and when they came down with the deadly disease that had spread from the Last City to the Reef.

He had encountered a Human only once before. From afar. He'd just stolen his staff from a Devil Captain, on the Human home world. He'd been hiding, running… and then he saw _it_. A Brightfang, in the flesh, standing from on high, outlined in moonlight. Flowing robes and shining armor, deadly gun and light crackling at her fingertips. He'd been standing downwind, so he'd scented her before he saw her.

And then the rival house had seen him. They had chased him, and he decided to use the Brightfang to his advantage. He'd led the Devils right into her line of sight. She cut them down in an almost terrifying but oddly satisfying way. And then she'd turned on him. And then the Hive had burst out of the ground.

He'd ran and hid, hid well, but all the while he watched her fight. Fight until the morning, fight until the night fell again, fight until she'd had so many wounds, her pristine blue robes were tarnished and soaked red, and she bled out as she fought still more. When she finally fell, he ran out of his hiding place while the Hive were howling in victory, snatching the body up and running for his ship.

There, she'd breathed her last breaths, and he was left to wonder; what exactly where the Brightfangs trying to accomplish? Protect? He'd stolen her Ghost. It was through keeping the small device captive for the long months of the Reef War that he learned; the Brightfangs were called Guardians. But there had been nothing out there, in those ruins she'd died in, not one Human, not one fellow Brightfang. Just enemies, be they Eliksni or Hive. Nothing to guard.

But that Brightfang was the first and only Human he'd ever seen. And that death was the one that shook loose, by the smallest amount, the belief he'd been hardened in since his House had been killed.

There was no point resisting the Wolves. The Great Machine left his people for dead. Both were his enemies; neither could be fought against.

But that death… there was something about her, that Human. A sort of… Light she had radiated. It was painful to feel. But it perplexed him, in ways it shouldn't have. The pain… made his head clear. Not pain in general; just the pain brought by being near the Brightfang. It was soon afterwards he realized that the longer he spent with the Wolves, the less… clear he felt. But when he spent an excessive amount of time holding the Ghost, listening to it rant and yell at him, beg to be released, feeling the… Light inside of it… the clearer his head became.

He started actually reading the old ways he'd preserved. Then… he started thinking. And once he started thinking, that was when the Darkness had begun, for the first time ever, to lose its grip on an Eliksni mind. You could cloud someone's judgement to the point where thoughts were little, and ignored. But once someone started thinking… there was no way to trap them.

It was soon after he realized; the Great Machine hadn't run from his people. It had run from the Whirlwind, because it knew they would lose. They would fall. The Whirlwind was the Darkness that the Awoken and the Ghost kept speaking of with fear, the Darkness was the ultimate enemy of his people. And they were embracing it. Becoming what they hated.

He refused this. He started killing fellow Eliksni, secretly fighting for the Awoken. Nobody would notice a couple of missing Dregs. Or low ranking Vandals. Or if this Captain was crushed by a "supposedly" loose boulder, or if that Baron's ether feed snagged on a sharp rock, cut, and suffocated him while he slept. He took every chance he got to help the Awoken, whom he saw slaughtered in brutal and disgusting ways every day.

With each kill he got more and more careful, more and more clever., more and more clear-headed. He knew not to fall to the whispers of the darkness this time, he was smarter than the Whirlwind now. All the while, he kept getting more and more curious. Kept stealing from Splicers. Hording machines. Building in secret.

He'd once seen footage from an infiltrating Silent Fang Vandal, as several Eliksni warriors snuck in and mauled the citizens of the Last City. He hadn't been able to show his horror in front of Skolas, but had been able to let them think his hisses of satisfaction were because of a Vandal killing another Human, instead of the fact several Brightfangs had come and started taking Fang lives.

And when he warned the Awoken, when Skolas ripped his arms off, when those searching his hidey-hole found his inventions, crushed his stolen Ghost, left him to die as the Awoken rent the Wolf fleet… he knew at last, he was truly now a member of the House of Judgement. He'd judged Skolas and his rabid, violent way unworthy of a true Eliksni, and he had helped the Awoken render that judgement.

And it all started with _that_ Human. The only Human he'd ever encountered; not many Guardians had been able to help with the Reef Wars, the Last City still reeling from twilight Gap.

And now, there was a Human here. It _had_ to be a Guardian; what other kind of Human would be here, at a time like this? His eyes found the Human. Wide-eyed and spinning in circles, the young man trying to look at all of the Reef at once, in awes of something as simple as the Royal City of Vesta-4.

And he was heading right for Variks, though he didn't seem to notice. The scribe felt an odd sort of twist in his gut. He had no idea of how to approach a Human, socially. His curiosity seemed to burn in his mind, but he had no idea what to do. He was not a social Eliksni. Even with his two lone Housemates.

He spent more time building, thinking, than he did talking to others. Several Awoken doctors had urged him that it wasn't healthy. He ignored them. Ever since he'd started thinking again, more and more complex thoughts had entered his mind. Ideas, inventions, puzzles to solve and create. He was fascinated with knowledge, and though knowledge was a scribe's trade, he was exploring topics that were usually left for the Splicers to deal with.

He was no Splicer. He gave himself strict moral boundaries. No self-experimentation, no using other as test subjects. The only tests he ever did on himself, where when he was looking for a way to improve his cybernetic arms. He'd done a few reaction time upgrades a couple of weeks ago, adding additional nerve sensors, and improved his balance a little. Contrary to popular belief his people's upper arms didn't grow back like the lower, and were necessary for balance.

He was still wondering how to best approach the Human with his question, one that stressed upon him the most about this particular Human, when the Human tripped on someone else's leg, and fell with a yelp onto his back…

Right in front of Variks. The young man gasped in fear, growing stiff, as he realized there was an Eliksni staring down on him. Variks blinked in surprise at him. He looked like a Human youngling. At least his face did. He was obviously an adult, or close enough to maturity, if Humans aged the same rate as Awoken, though they probably judged years differently.

He was wearing a loose set of robes, like the Guardian Variks had encountered so long ago. They were scarlet, and not styled for battle. Directly beneath them, he wore a dark blue vest, and beneath that, a sort of shirt or tunic. Around his waist, also beneath the robes, was a belt. A _very used_ belt, with small packs, some book-sized, with a knife sheathed next to a pouch that looked like it had a small book of sorts in it, and there was a plain, boring gray armband clasped near his left shoulder.

His eyes were large, scared, and a green like spring growth, his messy hair a sandy-brown color, his scent like old paper, wilderness, chemicals, and some kind of feline animal. But there was one thing Variks needed to ask this Human. He was at a loss for what words might be socially acceptable, and the question was what came from his mouth, rather than a greeting to the fearful Human.

"What is the purpose of the glass-and-wire on your face?" he asked, looking down on the Guardian. The looks and smell off fear faded, replaced by a brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wha…?" the human sputtered. He reached up and touched the device. A pair of circular glass lenses, suspended by a wire frame, which snaked around his ears, holding it to his face."My glasses? They help me see."

"Why?"

"I have shoddy vision."

"'Shoddy'? What does that mean?"

"Bad. It means I have bad vision, I can't see well without… hold on, are you speaking English?"

"Yes. Had to learn, to live in Reef, yes? Awoken do not speak my tongue." The Human's jaw went slack, looking up at the Fallen vandal with mechanical arms and almost friendly disposition, asking him what his glasses were for.

"Why are you still laying on the floor? You will be stepped on by Awoken, yes?" Variks backed off as the Human shut his mouth with a _clack_ , before scrambling to his feet, looking at Variks with narrowed eyes and carrying himself with caution.

"So… you're not going to shoot me?" he asked cautiously.

"No. My shock pistol is to defend from Wolves, should they get… urges." The Wolves still hated him for giving them to the Awoken. A few had attacked him over the years, and though they were severely punished, he still felt the need to have a weapon on his person, in case he needed to defend himself.

"Urges? Like, they want to kill you? Why do they hate you?" the Human's curiosity was beginning to override his sense of caution, Variks could tell.

"I betrayed them to the Queen. Told her when to kill Wolf fleet. She is my Kell now. Their Kell. They hate that. So, they hate me." The green eyes alit with amazement again.

"Hold on; you ended the Reef wars?"

"No. Awoken ended Wars, not I. Simply told them of Skolas' assault, of Skolas' foolishness. They finished the battle, not I."

"How come I never heard of that?"

"It is Reef history, not Human."

"Twilight Gap and the Reef Wars are all part of the same battle, in a way. There are full accounts of both in the City libraries. Did the Reef keep you secret on purpose?"

"You as too many questions, Guardian." Variks was becoming uncomfortable. He went back into his ten, and set the piece that had flow out onto the table. He smelled the Human following him. Variks' initial curiosity had been replaced by his natural reclusiveness. But it seemed his usual tactic of socially retreating was failing him. The Human was too curious to avoid.

"Is that a thermos-conductor unit? Did you build that yourself?" Variks looked around in surprise at the Human. He certainly hadn't expected someone of equal intellect to his own. The Guardian looked around more, eyes finding more of Varik's projects, gaze growing more and more excited to the point he could smell the young man's curiosity.

"Thermo-conductors, old Sky Razor, a nuclear field containment unit… I recognize all the designs, but not the parts you've used to repair them. Are you using improvised science?" he asked. Variks was now even more surprised. Not only was this a man of knowledge, but he could recognize perhaps the full inventory that Variks had accumulated over the years.

"In Reef, must use what I can find. Even if all that is found is scraps." He told the Human. The Guardian suddenly came up close to Variks, closer than he liked, and leaned in to get a detailed look at the work Variks had been doing on the conductor. It took all the scribe's self-control not to push him away. It had been years since enduring the frequent beatings of the Wolves during the final days of the war, but he still hated being close enough to someone to be touched. Eliksni, when not corrupted by darkness, were a naturally over-cautious people.

"You know, you should probably put the heat compensator over here." He said, pointing, leaving Variks even more flabbergasted; only a few seconds, and the Human was able to understand where Variks had been going with this project? "I tried to build one like this once when I was a kid, but I hooked the compensator up to the radia-al uh, uhhh."

If the Guardian's voice had been a vehicle, it had just crashed, _hard_. He stuttered, and his voice died, sudden fear-scent rolling off of him. His face grew red, and his eyes grew hidden, and he scrambled back, shoulders hunched, leaving the scribe very confused.

"S-sorry I, uh, b-better be going. I uh, I didn't mean to bother y-you, it's a, it's a problem of mine. Sorry." The Human was quick to excuse himself. There was no physical problem with him. It seemed as if, just as with Variks, this Human had trouble with reading social ques. But the Vandal was still desperately curios now; what had he been about to say, before his wits had failed? Had he thought Variks was made uncomfortable by his speaking, judging by the context of the apology? Perhaps he'd mistaken his discomfort at being so close to another, for discomfort of being spoken to?

"Problem? I was not aware of any problem with your observation. Continue." The Human whirled around in surprise. His mouth opened and closed, and he tentatively approached again, and Variks backed off a small amount to give him room to view the device fully.

The young human approached hesitantly, almost as if he couldn't believe he'd been asked to stay.

"W-well, I hooked it up to the radial input filter, and it lowered the output so much, I decided to re-build it, but when I took it apart the compensator was burned out because it ran too slow. If you hook it up to the radial output filter, it should come out better, and faster. I never got the chance to test it completely, but I ran lots of simulations." he said, placing his hands ontop of the table. They were bare and small looking.

"What system to run simulations?" Variks asked.

"My head." the Guardian answered shyly. "It's easy; I just think of it as a puzzle, and in my head, I start to see the finished product of all the pieces."

Variks looked at him in wonderment. This Human was young, very young by his species standards. Variks, by Earth years, was only 15, but he had lived much longer than most of his people did. He honestly had no idea how long he would live for, or how far along his natural lifespan he was; it was unheard of for an Eliksni to die of old age. Usually, disease or rivals killed them long before reaching even a decade old. He counted himself lucky.

To be so young, yet so intelligent... he certainly hadn't met any Awoken like this, not in a whole nine Earth years.

"Well, then, puzzlemaster... what is your name?" he asked.

"M-Martin. Martin Anton." the Human held out his hand. Variks hesitated, trying to remember what this was. _Ah! It is one of those greeting gestures. Yes._ He reached out with one lower hand and griped Martin's with his own. The Human's skin was very soft, and he could tell just by touching that it would easily be broken, so he softened his grip slightly so as not to damage him. Only now did he notice the oddness, the faint hum of Light within the young Human, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

"You speak to Variks, of House Judgement."

Though he did not know it at the time, something had just started that would quickly escalate to events beyond his control. In meeting Martin Anton, Variks would discover secrets that any sensible Eliksni would destroy the evidence of and deny it's existance forever.

But Variks of House Judgement had never really been one with much sense.

* * *

 **And here we have the scene taking place directly before Fever. While Silverhawk was meeting Uldren an co., Martin was doing this. I've always wanted to write this scene, and it feels great to get it out there.**

 **jsm1978: Glad you liked it! Personally, I only lost Miranda in my first ME2 playthrough(not that I shed any tears; I never liked her much anyway). I managed to get everybody out alive with my ME1-ME3 character though. Fun fact; that character's name is Lyse. She's nothing like the real Lyse though; I'm such a bleeding heart Paragon.**

 **alienraptor: No idea what Raptor Industries is, but okay! Nah; Certech's dead as a doorknob. It's just got some nasty secrets still out there.**

 **Order and Chaos: I'll give you some basic info on them, sure you can use them. Plus, needles. I literally have a freaking panic attack whenever I have to get a shot. Just one more reason I'm glad to have finally reached the age where they're no longer mandatory.**

 **Guest: I thought someone might bring that up. My head canon going into Taken King... Taken Thrall are hypoallergenic. Yup.**

 **Well, I hate to say it guys, but there won't be anymore updates for this until Wolfsbane is finished. I had a lot of fun fleshing out these guys' backstories. I think the Hunters three were my favorite to work with, and it was awesome to add on to what Fever started.**

 **That being said, what was your favorite moment in Silver and Martin's childhoods? What moment will stick with you the most? Personally... I'll never forget Brask. A Hunter's Vow Pt.2 will probably, when this series finally ends, be the chapter that I'll always feel the most strongly about. Maybe all authors feel this way when they kill off a character, but Brask's death chapter still has me tearing up a little whenever I re-read it. I still feel rotten about killing him, but hey; that's show biz for you.**

 **Well, the backstory is finished. Now we move onto the real quest of this fic; curing the deathtouch. Well, he's going to TRY to cure it. No guarantees that Martin will actually succeed, and no guarantees that it won't blow up in his face at some point(maybe literally?). Other than that, we'll be catching up with the Reef gang after the events of Wolfsbane. This is projected to be the longest installment in the series, unless Twilight can top it off. These fics usually fall in the 10-13 range.**

 **Next Time: A certain someone loves to blast his tunes, and the hunt for Skolas is going poorly.**

 **Cheers!^^**

 **WARNING: DO NOT CONTINUE READING IF YOU HAVE NOT YET FINISHED FEVER-WOLFSBANE!**


	13. Part 2: How to Cure Death

**Quote of the Day:** "If _I never see another spider again, I will die a happy Turian. Unless they have spiders in the afterlife. Drat."_ \- Garrus Vakarian

* * *

 **Jan. 27, 2789**

The slim ship sped through the atmosphere, low to the trees, blasting leave and branches apart as it tore through the air. The person on board, driving the ship, did not have too big an ego. But, as a Hunter, there came a certain amount of... personal flair. In fancy white writing across the handsome bronze side of the ship, the words "Quite Content Damsel" were painted.

Rogers checked the radar again, while her eyes also scanned the areas below her ship. Padfoot was playing classic rock again, his own personal playlist. Her mission?

Buzz the enemy so her CO and fellow Guardian could pick them off as they came out to shoot at her. It figured, she got used for bait duty. She had been given this, and many other menial tasks since the Battle of the Rebellions. Her CO kept saying it was because her leg wasn't fully healed.

She had, multiple times, signed and batted her eyes pleasantly with an agreeable expression on her face, while in reality, she was saying things that Padfoot absolutely refused to translate. Sometimes, being mute had its advantages. True, she would lose that advantage when and if Uldren finally picked up on sign language.

Thought that was doubtful. He probably wouldn't sink himself to her level like that. But if this kept up, he would have to learn, because pretty soon, she was certain she would be deaf!

Dubstep was blaring at top volume, only slightly muffled by the small compartment from whence it came. Sierra let out a huff of breath. _Alright, that's it!_ She couldn't take it anymore!

She reached up to the small sliding door imbedded in the wall on her right, and slammed it open. Padfoot was snuggled deep into a wadded-up blanket, watching Sparrow Races on the small screen he had projected on the wall of the tiny compartment.

"GET HIM! GET 'IM! RAM HIM OFF THE ROAD! NOOOO!" he was screaming. She grabbed him, pulling him into the open, causing him to whine in protest, taking her hands off the controls only for a small moment to scold him.

 _"_ _Turn that down!"_ She signed furiously before taking the controls again. Pouting, the Ghost turned off his tunes, and looked up at her in a pathetic sort of way. She gave him a look she knew he could read.

" _Don't look at me like that."_ She projected through her expression. He whirred in response. This was how things always worked between them. She could sign, yes. But she and Padfoot had a more unique way of communicating than most Guardian/Ghost pairs. He could read her as easily as if she were speaking most times, though she still had to relay more direct information with sign language. Even then, her expressions usually filled in the blanks in a sentence for words that couldn't be signed.

"It looks like we're approaching." He commented, looking out the window. Indeed they were. _Alright, let's give them something to worry about._

"Uldren, Lyse, we're beginning our approach. Knock 'em dead." Padfoot said out loud.

 **"** **We read you. Keep them off us, Rogers."** Uldren's voice replied through the comms. She switched on the weapons systems, and fired three shots through the air.

At first, nothing happened.

Then, chaos broke loose.

* * *

Uldren looked up as three skiffs lifted off to give chase to the lone Guardian fighter as she spun through the air, firing off several more shots. He turned and nodded to Lyse, and the both went forwards.

It had been just over three weeks since the Wolves of the Reef had rebelled. The losses had been devastating, his Crows down to less than half their original strength, mostly due to dirty traps and ambushes. Rogers, who was flying overhead, had been critically wounded during the attack, along with many others. His own sister had taken a rather worrying gut shot.

The only reason he was in the field now instead of at his sister's side, was because they were too short on Crows to risk any but the best going in. He glanced at Lyse as they stalked forwards towards the Fallen base, as he thought about the one other reason he was here.

He didn't trust her.

She was a powerful Sunsinger of the Phoenixsong Order, and had healed his sister during the battle in the throne room. But when he pulled Rogers out of the rubble, the Huntress barely breathing, the Warlock had refused to help the mute, even a little.

Next to skill, Uldren valued loyalty above all else. He would willingly take a bullet for any of his Crows, prince or no. If someone was under his command, they were his responsibility; their lives were in his hands, and he had to organize them accordingly to make sure they all got out alive. Rogers was a Hunter, a fellow Guardian, and Lyse had quite literally turned her back when she was perfectly capable of helping.

He didn't take kindly to that kind of betrayal, that kind of endangerment. He still wasn't sure about the mute, but he'd be damned if he was going to be an irresponsible CO and let Rogers go in with Lyse alone. At least this way, he could keep tabs on the Warlock. And by keeping Rogers away from the fight, for now, at least, until he understood Lyse's style more, she would be insignificantly less danger.

The Warlock herself was an enigma. She seemed to exist only out of spite, and greeted everybody with a sneering glare that tarnished an otherwise beautiful face. He couldn't possibly hope to understand what went on in that cruel mind of hers, other than she was the most single-minded person he'd ever met.

She hated Rogers, that much he did know. At first, he'd thought it was because she was mute(even he felt a bit like the Tower had cheated him), but he'd come to realize it might be something deeper… more personal. It was clear the two of them had never met before, but there was something about the mere presence of Rogers that made him want to knife the Warlock for the Gunslinger's own safety; a look of dark murder that would make even the infamous Dredgen Yor recoil in fear.

 _Maybe, they're related._ He thought wryly. Actually, come to think of it, she was more suited to be the offspring of Toland the Shattered and Omnigol herself, with just a sprinkling of madness from Prestannen, the mad king from several generations back in his bloodline who murdered nearly the entire royal family.

It was a risk he didn't want to take. Lyse was an unknown, dangerous, and though she was supposedly on their side, he couldn't help but get a feeling that he was walking over his own grave whenever she looked at him. It made him furious.

He sprinted to the entrance of the base, sidling up to it along the wall, gun drawn. The Fallen they were hunting? Pirsis. Hallam Fen had been practically foaming at the mouth when he was told she escaped, and it had taken multiple assurances on the prince's account that her head would adorn his wall by the end of the day, to keep the Paladin from running out and going after her himself.

In the same attack that he resulted in Askor getting spaced and frozen to death, multiple others had been sprung from the Prison before reef forces had been able to secure it, Pirsis not being the least among them. Word was she had gained command of several Wolf Splicers, and were trying to do something extremely dangerous, something that Uldren couldn't allow to happen.

Word was, according to radio chatter translated by Variks, they were trying to modify the disease.

There was no specific name for the disease; it was just 'the disease'. A genetically-engineered super-plague designed to kill Awoken slowly, and painfully. However, it had affected Humans as well, and roughly two months ago, Uldren had joined forces with a duo of insufferable guardians, Silverhawk and Martin, to locate a cure for it. If the Pirsis' Splicers successfully modified and released the new version of the plague, the original cure might not work.

Stopping the modifications was priority one.

He nodded to Lyse, and the Warlock, with her tattered, worn pulse rifle, became engulfed in flame, quickly turning the door into a melty hole before firing on the Fallen within. It was always strange and disorienting to stand near or in Lyse's fire.

He was watching the world burn, but when he was near or touching it, it was warm, like a mother's touch, a healing breeze. It was a sharp contrast to both the destruction, and Lyse herself. He braced himself, and ran in after her, eyes finding the enemy, gun pointed and shooting as he stood in the vestiges of the flames, in the comforting embers that seemed to blink at him.

Despite the odd power, the way the sunsinger's flames seemed to erase the aches that had built up over a day of flying, there was always the sharp, subconscious reminder that she could turn her fire from welcoming to hostile to him with a mere thought. He'd done his reading on sunsingers and gunslingers, not wanting to be caught off-guard like he had sometimes during the quest for the cure.

Apparently, Rogers could make things blow up by shooting them. Apparently, Lyse could cover herself with a shield of flame. He'd seen Rogers blow things up with her gun before, and once he'd assured himself of Lyse's tactics, he was looking forwards to seeing the carnage again. This 'flame shield' of Lyse's? he got more the feeling that it was less of a shield, and more of her melting everything in her path.

"Find Pirsis!" he barked, though knowing Lyse, she wasn't listening to him, or didn't care. Another thing he hated about her. He spotted several Splicers trying to make a break for it, and he charged them, tackling one and pumping it's gut full of lead before using his other hand to throw a knife into the chest of another.

The creature wore only a thin tunic, much like Variks, but had several grizzly modifications, the most prominent being that one side of its face was made entirely of beat-up synthetic components. He allowed himself a small grin; he was getting faster. Nowhere near as fast as roger's instantaneous 'appear out of nowhere' daggers that flung from her hands the same rate as bullets, but at least now he could say he wasn't totally outdone by a mute.

He hadn't invested in knife-throwing in a while now, but watching her shoot and throw at the same time had been… _embarrassing_.

The other two fallen, he shot in the backs as they tried to retreat.

 **"** **I killed Pirsis."** Lyse's voice came from over his earpiece. **"Back room, if you want the body and the labs."**

"Don't touch anything; I'm on my way." He grunted. He turned and walked to the aforementioned room, the already tattered, rusty fallen hideout now nothing more than a broken room covered in flames and glowing-hot metal. He casually shot a vandal in the head as it, with broken legs tried to drag itself towards the door.

The 'labs' of the Splicers were now no more than a mess of broken, smoldering glass and equipment, and he froze stiff with an uneasy feeling in his gut as he caught notice of how many broken containers there were, not all of them burning. _Lyse you fool… if that strain escaped your wrath…_

"There's a very good chance that one of these broken glasses contained the disease." He snarled as he glared at the Warlock, who was leaning against the wall with Pirsis dead at her feet. "Would it kill you to be more careful?"

"I doubt I'll get sick. Here's your fallen." She clipped, prodding the body with one foot. He grit his teeth, shutting his eyes and letting out a strained breath through his nose. He got on the comm.

"Rogers, status." He requested.

 **"** **We managed to take them out."** Padfoot's voice replied. **They scratched the paint a little, though, and I think Sierra's getting tired of menial work. Hey, don't look at me like that! I know your 'bored to the point of knifing someone' look, and that's the look you've been making!"**

Uldren shook his head. _I really don't want to let her into the field…_

Lyse aside, he was still highly against the idea that a mute had any place on the battlefield. Her skills were great-maybe even legendary-, but the fact of the matter was that Sierra Rogers was a liability.

But another fact of the matter was, some day he would have to use her.

* * *

"Mom! Have you seen my plasma circuit?" the voice called from the basement. The geared-up, middle-aged Warlock cleaning dishes in the kitchen leaned out to look at the breakfast table, where a Huntress in civvies and shoulder-length gloves was scarfing down the last of her waffles.

"It's on the table, Martin!" she called back to her adoptive son. The sound of footsteps climbing the short stairway to the main room of their apartment made the Huntress lift her head slightly, and the young man in a gray, slightly oversized tunic appeared in the doorway to his 'nerd cave'.

His hair was messy, as always, his glasses freshly repaired and glinting in the light, his arm still in a sling from his 'adventure' a few weeks ago. The marks on his soft skin where the compound fracture had broken through his flesh were still fresh and noticeable, though they would not leave any scars, as with most Guardians.

Unfortunately, unlike most Guardians, Warlock Martin Peregrin Anton was nowhere near as useful as the woman sitting at the table, Silverhawk, his sister. His Light was stunted; something he personally blamed for the 'accident' at the Reef.

"Thank you." He chirped as he took the sensitive product off the table, surprising clean despite the excessive amount of syrup he tended to put on his breakfast of choice.

"You, uh, you heading out today?" Silverhawk asked, glancing at him. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and her eyes had not yet been covered by her usual pair of aviators. She had changed since the incident at the Reef where he'd been so hurt. He'd been in a coma for several days.

She was still bright and cheerful, and crazy as ever. But now there was an almost possessive, feverish protectiveness. She followed her Warlock around wherever he went outside their home, which wasn't too often, though his sometimes went for short walks or down to the City to buy project supplies with what little money he had.

He had been put into a coma, and she had been half a system away. It drove her crazy, the thought that such a horrible thing had happened, to _Martin_. Who would do such a thing to him? A cruel, crazy fallen Archon, that was who. Hearing Variks had launched it out an airlock was the best new she'd heard that day.

Just knowing what had happened to him… and she was so far away… and then there was Uldren's threat to kill her if she ever set foot in the Reef. He was an outright grump, but she knew when he wasn't kidding; she wasn't dumb. Knowing how badly Martin was hurt, and being unable to do a thing about it, not even visit him, had been the most terrible thing in her life.

"Nah, not really. It's _cold_ out there!" he shrugged, giving a small shiver before walking away back to the basement. "I hate winter!"

* * *

 **Hmm. That last part felt a little tacked on. But hey, I'ts just a little thing letting you know Martin is doing okay after what happened in Wolfsbane. See, he's alright! Alright and enjoying his waffles, like Eleven! I felt today's quot was appropriate, given the fact spiders seem to be a common theme nowadays... Broken, I'm looking at you. You started this. Or was it amberstar? Shoot, now I can't remember. I'm just going to make Like Padfoot and hide in my Ghost cubby with the music turned up.**

 **And WHOOOOOO! Here we are, at last! I bet you guys are a little annoyed this chapter was so short, considering the wait I put you through. To be fair, I decided to actually make good on my constant promises of making you guys wait a little more for good things. That, and the next part of this chapter felt... well, it felt more like the opening sequence of another chapter, rather than the close of one. This is just a short, sweet little check in to kick off part 2 of this fic.**

 **Sierra and Padfoot are back as well, but so is Lice. I can say with honesty that she is going to do something within the next ten or so chapters that will make you hate her forever. And I look forwards to writing some more stuff with Sierra, especially later when Start building up to the climax of the Certech plot.**

 **Fun fact: Prestannen means 'Mutation' in Sindarin.**

 **Also, just a quick recap(mostly for those who decided to ignore my spoiler warning at the end of last chapter, both to punish them further, and make it so they aren't COMPLETELY lost)of basic things in this universe, namely a few of the AU changes:**

 **A Ghost can only revive their chosen Guardian once or twice, per Guardian. After that, it's all over.**

 **Lifespans are not tripped, simply because this would, in reality, lead to severe overpopulation and famine within the City and Reef, as they lack the ability to expand.**

 **Crucible is done with advanced holographic real-time scans of Guardians to mimic usage of supers, and dummy bullets dosed with a drug that makes everybody flop for a few seconds to signify 'death'. In Iron Banner, this drug is added to with another chemical that mimic's the pain of an actual wound.**

 **The Iron Wolves rose AFTER the original SIVA threat. They were killed during Twilight Gap.**

 **The events of Dark Below took place before the events of the original game(because Oryx needs time to get here; don't give me that look, we all know space traffic is a nightmare).**

 **I honestly forget who's review I replied to in PM when I last posted a chapter on this. I think I did everyone but jsm... I think.**

 **Just in case, jsm, I respect you're not a Martenj fan, but I'm glad you approve of Variks and Martin's friendship. Our two little geeks in a pod. And I started an MShep playthrough, only to get distracted by Iron Banner last month, then I went on a Crucible binge that put a Krogan blood rage to shame. I razed through roughly thirty supremacy matches with my level 28 Titan, thanks completely in part to the Vestian Dynesty. If there's one gun we need to have brought back, it's that one! It is freaking OP!**

 **Anyway, I'm going to go fangirl scream and hype a bunch because I just found the Stranger Things Season 2 trailer!**

 **WHOOOOOOO! LEGGOOOO MYYYY EGGOOOOOOOS! YEEEE-HAAA!**

 **Also, go check out Amber's stuff. Her latest "Rising" chapter features a semi-drunk Cayde at the end, and he is flyyyyinngggg...**

 **Next Time: Quarantine is annoying, and Ryan is still Ryan.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	14. Throwback Saturday

**Quote of the Day: _"My only friend is old and always tells the same stories. But you're blazing." - Peril_**

* * *

Silverhawk, now in a set of wire weave armor, strode across the main plaza at the top of the Tower. Other Guardians were also walking around, most of them in gear, but some bundled up in a set of nice, warm civilian clothing, scarfs and hats and the like. All she needed was her frabjous fedora, her blazing sunglasses, and her frabjous cloak, and she was good to go.

She let out a small shiver as the cold morning air bit her cheeks. _Maybe, I should talk to Saladin about getting one of those fur-lined cloaks he hoards... everybody knows he has them._

Sure, she never wore her hood, but just the thought of being able to snuggle her chin deep into the fur hung around her neck made her feel warm. Of course, if she wanted a new cloak, she would have to kick some butt in the Crucible simulators. Maybe she would make a little glimmer; goodness knew, Martin was burning through his funds _fast_. He had been spending a lot of his time in the basement with Variks on the line, maintaining a geeky, long-distance friendship.

A _really_ geeky long-distance friendship. She'd gone in there once to hear Variks saying words she hadn't thought possible to exist! But Martin seemed to have fun with it, and honestly, after all that had happened, she didn't mind him having his nerd time.

"Hey! Hey! Silverhawk! Fedora lady! Hey!" _'Fedora lady'? Seriously?_ She turned to look at her pursuer. Ever since the quest for the cure, and the subsequent conquering of the Black freaking Garden afterwards, she'd had to get used to people giving a thrall's but about her presence. Now "Silverhawk" was a household name, and not just for her Sparrow Racing tendencies.

Imagine her surprise at who it was that had called her name. A chashire cat grin spread across her face as the Titan ran up to her. _Well, well, well… if it isn't a certain Sunbreaker._

"Ryan Newton, in all his blazing glory." She greeted as the young Titan, clad in New Monarchy red and white, charged up to her with a wide grin on his face. "You look like a walking billboard!"

"Oh, please; we all know 'living advertisement' is the latest style these days." He scoffed, skidding to an excited halt.

Ryan had been a notorious flirt last she'd seen him, even to her. His hair had grown some, but didn't seem to be lacking in hair products, still styled to be intentionally rogue-ish, yet at the same time well-groomed. His steel-y silver eyes still had that glint in them, and his teeth were still just as white as before.

He was, by all definitions, probably the most beautiful man in the Tower, and she was pretty sure he was channeling a younger version of Tevis.

"What're you doing up here, Mr. Blazing?" she asked, leaning against the Eververse building.

"I'm about to go on a blazing partol with my blazing new Sparrow in my blazing new helmet and my blazing fireteam who's down a man because rabid space ferrets." he deadpanned.

"Well... I was going to rock house in Crucible... buuuuuuuuut..." she mused, stroking an imaginary beard. "Who's on your team, right now?"

"Alan-8's out with a missing optic, and do you remember Andyosa Kvvrya?" he asked.

"I remember you putting caterpillars in her hair." she told him, nodding.

"Well, she's our Warlock."

"She your latest girlfreind, too?"

"Well... lets just say it didn't work out. You're not the only one who remembers the caterpillars."

"So I'd be your fill-in flirt outlet?"

"No; you'd be the pretty girl with the classy fedora who just won't give me her heart." He blinked pleading eyes at her. "Please. Alan's gone, I _need_ someone to banter with!"

"Well, I'll just kickstart my banter programming, shall I?" She had fully intended to say 'no, I actually have something to do today'. Why the heck was she agreeing to this!? What if Martin went out, and some conveniently random and terrible event happened, and she was out patrolling with Ryan and Kvvrya? "Shalt we grace Old Russia with my posh headwear?"

"Yes, yes, we should do that, old chap!" He held out his arm. "Shalt we retrieve our bounties from the bounty tracker, thus?"

"Retrieve them, we shall!" She looped her arm through his, and they 'rode forth'.

* * *

 _"_ _I hate quarantine."_ Sierra signed as she left the clean room, white threads draped over her arm. She'd changed back into her now strange-smelling wire weave before leaving; the thin fabric made her feel uncomfortably exposed, especially so since the Reef wasn't the friendliest place for a Human. Let alone a mute one.

"We weren't even on the ground!" Padfoot agreed, drifting from her right side to hover over her left shoulder, shell clicking. "Those chemicals have messed with my colors, I swear! Do I seem bit duller to you?"

"Rogers!" her head snapped around at the sound of Uldren's voice, and her body, by reflex, stiffened upright and forwards at the sight of her temporary commander. He was still in all white, and it was strange to see him dressed so; like a turtle without it's shell, or a rabbit missing it's fur.

A crow without feathers. A really, really, quite cranky crow, and for good reason.

"At ease. Have you seen Lyse?" she shook her head in response, body relaxing. At this, Uldren swore loudly, and stormed off, muttering under his breath the multiple ways he was going to kill the Warlock when he found her.

"You know, I think that woman _lives_ to make Prince Uldren angry." Padfoot commented. "I don't get what her deal is. And I don't like the way she looks at you either. Plus, that Ghost of hers, Foxtrot? He's a Class A sack of thrall spit."

 _"_ _How so?"_ she asked.

"He said, and I quote 'you're too emotionally attached to your Guardian. It will be your downfall. You wouldn't follow a deaf man into battle—why follow a mute?' "He took on a haughty impersonation voice for his example, before switching his voice back to normal. "If there was ever time I wished I were an Exo…"

She shook her head in disbelief, and glance back at the clean room. She let out a sigh; after a long day of doing, yet again, nothing but fly, she was exhausted. Exhausted, with her heart aching for fresh air, the wild-longing stirring within her like a hungry snake. Throwing the white cloths in a nearby bin to be collected later, she made her way to the nearest elevator.

"Why do you think Uldren's being so paranoid about this thing?" Padfoot asked, looking back at the clean room before joining her. She pressed the button.

 _"He was part of the mission to find a cure for that disease."_ she guessed. _"He probably doesn't want all that work thrown out the window."_

"True." he agreed, bobbing in the air. She tried to push back memories of lying in a Tower hospital bed; she had been only one of many people to have contracted the terrible illness. It had been, without a doubt, one of the worst, most painful experiences of her life, and she had no desire to relive it.

The elevator opened with a ping. She had been supplied with temporary quarters here after being officially released from Faroth's care. It wasn't home; it wasn't the wild, but it was hers. For now.

"We really ought to get you groundside, you know." her Ghost clicked and whirred as he followed her down the halls. They ignored any passing Awoken, and the Awoken ignored them. "Because your wild-longing is really starting to kick in, and it is _really_ noticeable."

 _"Really? Already?"_

"Sierra, you were flipping a vending machine the bird earlier."

 _"It ate my money."_

"Well, that doesn't give you the excuse to curse like that! I mean, did the poor radar really deserve that kind of language?"

 _"It nearly got me killed! It told me to fly straight into a mountain!"_

"Think of the children, Sierra. Think of the children when you curse like that."

 _"There are no children here who understand sign language."_ She looked at him witheringly.

"Then think of me!" Padfoot chirped, twirling to zoom up and face her front as she unlocked and opened the door to her quarters. She rolled her eyes, and flicked on the lights.

It was very simplistic. A plain kitchen, black and gray. A vid screen on a wall in a small, adjoining room with a small couch and a table. Connecting to it, her bedroom, with a small bathroom and closet.

She had added a few personal touches; two decorative long knives crisscrossed on the wall on either side of the vid screen, a _very_ functional sword hung by the hilt next to her bedroom doorway (for style and in case of emergencies). A small palm tree in a large pot near the entrance; the only little bit of wilderness she'd managed to get in here without Uldren throwing a fit.

In her room, an ornate set of Iron Banner weaponry would be hung in display on the wall, several spare cloaks hung on pegs near the door, spare armor stored neatly in crates under her bed. Casual clothes in the closet, likely never to be worn (for some reason, she kept them anyway).

She paused to look at the palm tree, taking her gloves off and tossing them on the couch. She pinched one leaf between her left forefinger and thumb, rubbing it, feeling, _relishing_ the smooth, natural texture of the plant. It made something in her twist with howling longing even more.

She let go of the leaf, and rolled her shoulders as Padfoot zoomed up to the vid screen, activating it, switching to, predictable, the Sparrow Racing standings. She left him to it, and, not feeling too terrible hungry, left to her room to turn in for the night.

In the doorway, she stared despairingly at the bed. She was exhausted, but unlikely to sleep; the bed, _any_ bed, really, felt too unnatural to her. The artificial air didn't help. Most people didn't notice the difference between fresh air and air that was _free_. To a Hunter, the difference was all too painfully obvious.

The flat bed was nothing compared to the caress of a tree, the warm sand of a desert, or the soft moss of a forest. This dead air was nothing compared to the crisp scent on the wind before the rain, the chorus of a swamp at twilight, the feeling of the breeze on your face with the smell of the trees wafting over you, or the rustle of white feathers in a white, cold world at the peak of the midnight.

Wild-longing wasn't at all like cabin fever. It was, to her, more like home sickness bone-deep, to the marrow. She missed the wild. It didn't care if she had a voice in movement rather than sound; the trees were the same way as she was, and the sky was never judgmental.

With another heavy sigh, she let herself fall prone onto the bed, not bothering with her armor. A Hunter's armor was like a second home anyway; why should she shed it? Her eyes began to droop, and she was on the cusp of a heavy doze when an enraged shout from a tiny body in the other room woke her.

"OH, COME ON!? YOU CALL _THAT_ RACING!? BOO! HISS!"

With an exasperated sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. She, at some point, fell into a restless sleep, and when she woke, she would find new day gone bad before it even started.

* * *

"So, the ickle Fallen down there looks like a butt."

"They all look like butts; their backs are turned to us!"

"Can you two focus?"

"We could go along like it's an RPG."

"Ooo, YES!"

"Do I _seriously_ have to go and do this myself?"

"Sheesh, calm down, Ady." Ryan waved a hand in the direction of the Warlock. "We only have a few bounties on the line; loosen up, it's not like Crota's coming."

Beneath her Raku helmet, Andyosa Kvvrya's lips twitched in the beginning of a sneer. The rest of her body was decked out in the rather glum colors of Dead Orbit. Silverhawk had her signature hat and sunglasses on, and it was a wonder that they hadn't been spotted yet because of it, as the Warlock was constantly pointing out.

"Okay, Westley?" He Ghost spun out to face her, with Ryan's black, flame-print Ghost Blaze right next to him. In addition to the flame print on the tips of his shell nodes, he had red go-faster stripes on the upper front two nodes. "Here's my in-game name… M-Y-B-U-T-T. All-caps. You're to announce my every action in an obvious and annoying, repetitive manner, with that name, until we're done with the patrol."

"Of course, MYBUTT." The Ghost was obviously trying not to giggle.

"You're kidding me." Andyosa clipped. "Really? Oh, that's _super_ mature, Chancellor."

"Blaze, you're to do the same thing with me. But my name… is W-H-A-T-I-S-I-T-P-R-E-C-I-O-U-S. FOREVER." Ryan grinned beneath his helmet.

"WhatIsItPrescious, is there anything else you need?" the Ghost asked. The two Guardians snickered.

"Nope! I'm good!" Ryan managed to choke out. If she had her helmet off, Andyosa would have looked apoplectic.

"You do realize that dumb hat is going to give away our position?" She pointed at Silverhawk's fedora. The Hunter popped up to her feet, fists on her hips.

"Well excuuuuse me, princess!" she seemed to puff up slightly. "I'm making a fashion statement here!"

"MYBUTT makes a snarky comeback." Westley narrated in an 8-bit monotone. Andyosa's void Light flared at her fists slightly. "It's super effective!"

"Onwards! For City and Vanguard!" Ryan rose his auto rifle to the sky, bayonet glinting in the Russian sunlight, and he charged down the slope with a roar, feet skidding in the snow.

 _"_ _WhatIsItPrecious calls a rallying cry."_ Blaze told them through the comms, in a similar monotone to Westley.

"CHAAARGE!" Silverhawk cried, jumping to action, mounting her Sparrow, and boosting down after him. Andyosa, grumbling under her breath, took her sniper rifle off of her back, and lay herself prone on the ground, targeting several of the Fallen that the two nincompoops had alerted.

Down below, the Fallen readied the weapons in the direction of the two Guardians, only for several to lower them in confusion at the sight of the Titan and Hunter.

"See ya, slowpoke!" Silverhawk called at Ryan as she sped past him.

"My love! Wait for me!" He reached his hands out desperately at the too-fast Sparrow.

 _"_ _MYBUTT taunts WhatIsItPrecious."_ Westley's still 8-bit voice chirped through the comms. Ryan, unable to halt his momentum, and clumsy on the steep slope, finally tripped, rifle tumbling along the rise with him, ending up with the Titan in a pile of snow.

 _"_ _WhatIsItPrecious crashes and burns."_ Blaze announced. Ryan lifted up his gun, grinning when he saw it was intact, only to let out an odd, mortified squeaking sound when the tip of the bayonet fell off into his lap. _"WhatIsItPrecious now has decreased weapons efficiency."_

 _"_ _MYBUTT caused a large explosion."_ Westley stated as Silverhawk lobbed a grenade at a gas tank next to a Captain as she drove by, cackling madly as she did so. _"MYBUTT has mad skillz."_

 _"_ _Can't MYBUTT just use common sense?"_ Andyosa snapped over the comms.

 _"_ _Andyosa uses sarcasm. It is ineffective."_ Westley answered. The head of a Vandal exploded as Andyosa pulled the trigger, her Ghost reading the significant increase to her blood pressure as she did so.

* * *

"MYBUTT ripped open a hole in the space/time continuum."

"WhatIsItPrecious gives MYBUTT a gift: here is a potion to help MYBUTT in the heat of battle."

"Surely, this is going to get old at some point?"

"MYBUTT consumes the potion."

"Nope."

"I don't get it. All she did was burp and drink some water!" Andyosa said through grit teeth, face hard-set and strained with the effort of 'staying grumpy'. "Are you two going to stop this at some point, because I seem to recall you saying this would only last during the patrol."

"Well, what's the fun in being in a high-action MMORPG for only one patrol?" Silverhawk waved her knife around in a circle, before stabbing a slice of summer sausage with it. "Why _not_ till the end of the day?"

"Because it's annoying." The blonde-haired Awoken stated.

"No. It's blazing." Ryan countered, popping a cracker into his mouth. They were at one of the lounges below the main Tower hangar, Silverhawk splayed across one couch, with Ryan sitting at the floor by her feet. Their Warlock compatriot, for all her grumbling, was still with them, leaning against the wall with a glass of iced tea in one hand, her helmet discarded on a crate beside her.

After a long day of kicking butt in Old Russia with Ryan, Silverhawk could fully admit to herself, she didn't regret going out. She _had_ been starting to get a little restless in the Tower, and now she had some more glimmer to her name.

And part of her couldn't help but be reminded of a couple of months ago, when she'd gone on a certain quest with a slightly similar team. The blazing Hunter, the overly-cautious but _fun_ partner-in-crime, and the cranky Awoken who just didn't know how to _have_ fun. Grant it, Ryan wasn't overly-cautious like Martin, but Andyosa could totally be related to Prince Uldren. _Maybe, they should meet! Perhaps they're like, long-lost relatives or something…_

The best part of today, though? She hadn't come home to a disaster. Martin had ben perfectly safe, and perfectly well. Butting heads with Variks over some sort of energy problem, some kind of nerd argument.

A knock sounded, and all eyes turned to the green-plated, red-eyed Exo Hunter bedecked in Future War Cult colors; actually… it looked like an Ahamkara threw up buckets of paint on his armor and called it a paint job, really.

"Can I come in?" he asked in a young, lilted voice. _OH MY GOSH HE'S A BRIT! OR WAS A BRIT! A BRITISH EXO! Soooo posh!_

" _Duh_ , make yourself at home, Alan." Ryan waved at him as Silverhawk bit her sausage slice off her knife. Andyosa shook her head with disgust at this as Alan made his way over to carefully plop himself down in a chair next to Ryan, deliberately making sure the right side of his face was hidden from view the whole time, trying a little _too_ hard to do so.

"That is _so_ unsanitary." The Warlock sneered.

"Well excuuuuse me, princess! Need I remind you that I run several thousand megawatts through this blade _every_. _Single_. _Day_. If that doesn't murder every bacteria in existence, I doubt anything will." She waved her knife pointedly in her direction.

"MYBUTT makes an aphorism. It's super effective!"

"It's true!" Alan agreed, reaching out to take a slice of cheese. Ryan's hand darted out and gripped his wrist.

"Not so fast, tin man!" the titan's eyes glinted. "Me thinks you're trying little too hard to hide the ferret side of your face."

"Well… you replaced me! With a girl! Another date!" the Hunter tried to point out, clearly becoming desperate to draw the attention away from himself.

"Not a date! Totally a girl, though." Silverhawk chirped. The Exo seemed to wither, then, shoulders drooping slightly, he turned his head.

Silverhawk choked back a laugh, and Andyosa clapped a hand to her mouth. Ryan alone looked on with a blank face.

"They got the eye color wrong." Alan heaved sorrowfully, propping his chin on his hands. While his left eye was, indeed, true blood red, his right was now a shockingly neon bright pink. _Oh, that is_ terrible _!_

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and she and, surprisingly, Andyosa, burst out laughing as Ryan continued to stare.

"The ferret is strong with this one." He deadpanned. "I knew nothing would ever be the same again when that thing attacked…"

"H-how did a ferret manage to do that, anyway!?" she asked, breathless. The exo puffed up with indignation.

"Hey! It was the size of a tricycle! It had fangs! A-and claws! And it attacked my head!" he insisted melodramatically.

"You were wearing a _bush_ on your hood; it thought you were a nest!" Andyosa rolled her eyes, still recovering from her giggles with the first smile Silverhawk had seen on her all day plastered on her face.

"The bush was for disguise!" Alan's voice became high-pitched with mock distress.

"You look like a walking splatter of rainbow puke; those vex saw you coming anyway!"

"It's a fashion statement!"

"Has anybody ever told you you look like a bunch of skittles?"

"You look like a really bright red cowboy with sunglasses."

"I look to be the epitome of frabjous, my brother. I stand for perfection an nothing else. You should be proud; skittles are yummy."

"MYBUTT uses charm and classiness. It's super effective!" Westley chimed in. Alan snorted.

"My— _whaaat_? What's with the Ghost?" he asked.

"We're in an MMORPG." Ryan told him. "We're getting ready to save, and barge into someone else's home to sleep in their beds."

"Oh, let's not forget to trash all the crockery we find on the way up, too." Silverhawk pointed out. He nodded, waving a cracker at her.

"Hmm, good point." He comped down on his food, before taking another drink. "You know, Silverhawk, we should do this again sometime—"

"NO." Andyosa stood straight and stock still. "I can barely handle you and Alan; please don't bring _this_ one into the mix!"

"What's so bad about her?" Alan asked.

"She's worse than _you_ ," The Warlock jabbed a finger at him, then Ryan, "and _him_ combined. I barely survived today!"

"Silver, you sound like a riot. I like you already!" Alan raised his drink in toast. "To the new team!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa; hold your Sparrows here, I haven't agreed to anything yet!" she felt a sudden disconnect crash through the conversation, felt a wall slam down inside her. Martin… he knew to be careful around her. Alan would be safe, but Ryan and Andyosa, especially Ryan with his rough-and-tumble horsing around, would be in severe jeopardy if she hung around them in a fireteam.

Today had been fun. It had been _great_ , absolutely _BLAZING_. But it couldn't be every day. Not for her. Heck, there had been one moment, during patrol, where Ryan had grabbed her by the shoulder, with his _bare hand_ , to pull her back from an incoming grenade blast, after losing his glove. If she had turned her head just another centimeter at that point… her chin would have brushed the back of his hand, and he would have been dead, right then and there.

Not even Westley's chime of 'WhatIsItPrecious defended MYBUTT' had been able to chip away any of the terror of that moment. It was the closest she could remember coming to killing someone by accident. She couldn't let that happen. And image flashed through her head of her first caretaker, sprawled on the floor, her last moment of confusion frozen onto her lifeless. She clenched her fists.

 _I won't let that happen. Not ever again._

"Why not?" Ryan asked, looking genuinely confused. Maybe a little hurt, though she couldn't tell exactly. "We make a great team! Who know, maybe Martin'll get along with Ady!"

"Well, as great as it was working with you—had _a lot_ of fun, by the way—I just don't do good with big teams. I team up with others every once in a while, sure, but in the long run it's just too hard for me to deal with thinking about more than one other person. It's always been just Martin and me." It felt like a half-try of an explanation. Her life was filled with half-trys and lame excuses. She'd learned to live with it.

"Well, you _could_ adjust." Alan pointed out. "It wasn't too hard for me!"

"I'm not you." Was all she could come up with. The room had turned… dusky. Sour. The bitter that came after the laughter. Ryan clapped his hands loudly together, perhaps an attempt to banish the awkwardness.

"Well, I think it's about time to hit the hay." He announced loudly, standing up. Silverhawk swung her feet off the couch after him, stretching. "Maybe, uh, give me a call if you ever need a Titan? Or wanna go blow some stuff up with us?"

"Maybe." She reached out her gloved hand, shaking his, offering a lopsided grin before turning to leave. "See ya, Ady."

"Goodnight, my beautiful angle of living lightning!" Ryan called after her. "I'll keep an ear out for your thunder's mighty roar!"

"MYBUTT has left the party." She let Westley do the talking for that one, leaving the titan and her fellow hunter to a fit of _manly_ giggles. She made her way up the stairs into the main hangar bay, up to a perfectly framed view of the Traveler shining against the night sky, City lights and just plain Light creating a rather bright show.

"You know, Humanity must have had great night vision at some point. But now… um, how the heck do we sleep, again?" She asked out loud, leaning against the railing taking in the view briefly.

"MYBUTT askes a rhetorical question. It makes no sense." Her Ghost piped. She nudged him with her shoulder.

"Good boy, West. Good boy." She praised, still looking out at the orb. Ever since the Black Garden, it shone brighter than ever. A wave of new Ghosts had been born shortly afterwards. The Chryptarchs were having a field day. It wasn't fully awake, not yet; just… stirring, if it could be called that. Like that half-asleep-half-awake grogginess you got in the morning, when you knew you had to get up but it sucked too much to leave your bed you just blew off the rest of the universe and kept drowsing to your heart's content.

 _I wonder if it will ever wake up in my time?_ Along with that thought that everyone had, was the background question she always wondered if there was an answer to.

 _Would the Traveler have a solution for my deathtouch?_

* * *

 **Age of Triumph!^^**

 **I thought it would be appropriate, given today's circumstances, that I share the origin of my usage of the word 'blazing'. Peril, like Silverhawk, can't touch anything without it dying, because she was hatched with a rare defect called firescales; she burns everything she touches to a smoking crisp, and every dragon is absolutely terrified of her. It doesn't help she had a violent upbringing, and has about as much social skills as a squid in a blood rage(?). I seriously recommend the series she's from, Wings of Fire, especially to dragon lovers.**

 **And what are today's circumstances, you may ask? it has been, officially, a whole year since I threw down the first, rough chapter of Fever, and posted it as some random fanfic by some random person named Jayfeatther in a totally random fashion, that I never expected to grow so popular. This chapter and it's shenanigans was brought to you by a sentimental need to provide a throwback to our Fever days. It was a small throwback, sure. Has about as much maturity as a 12 year old(MYBUTT is actually a Gumball reference, one of the newer episodes; much soda was launched out of noses that day). But it's my throwback none the less.**

 **Why don't I um, skip the excessive apology about how long it's been since my last update? Please? I've been distracted. Mostly by reading other fics, some of it by the upcoming Mass effect game(I finally got hooked to the series), some of it having to do with the new Zelda manga that just released in English yesterday.^^**

 **But this is a big thing, okay. I started with minimal readers, plans only to have it as a stand-alone, and no major presence on this site whatsoever. Now I've got four installments in my pocket within a year, I'm leading a cult favorite AU, and most people on here at least recognize my name when they see me. I've come a long way, and I own that, in part, to your, the readers. I want to call out jsm1978, Furious Titan, sovietshadow, fierywarlock999, alienraptor, and multiple Guest readers, for their frequent and supportive reviews. I'd also like to thank everyone who fav/follows, and even those of you who read a lot but never review. And there are two people I'd like to call out specifically, who have been reading and reviewing since before Fever was finished.**

 **I'd like to give a special shout out to Order and Chaos- Qui Iudicant(reviewer since Fever update chapter 8), and MaybeALittleBroken(reviewer since fever update chapter 10), my 'legacy readers' who have been there nearly since the start, never failing to drop awesome reviews for nearly every single chapter in the series. Thanks for sticking with this, you guys! I seriously suggest checking out their fics, they're both blazing. That being said, I value every single one of you guys; the legacy's, the guests, the big players like Matteoarts to the little people like fierywarlock who are content enough with reading rather than writing a whole bunch. Thank you ALL! ^^**

 **jsm1978: I'm having so much fun with Iron Banner this week!^^ Supremacy is my THING. My Warlock has the Ironwreath-D and it was a SLAUGHTERHOUSE, I tell you!**

 **alienraptor: Intangible ships. Yum.**

 **Furious Titan: Crazy humor, granted. Enjoy.**

 **Guest: Well, though I mourn the content drought, I have a severe crucible addiction, and an obsession with the latest armor fashions. Yeah, the Hive are jerks. They're the guy who, when parallel parking, crashes violently into the other cars to make room for their own, then drives away without leaving a phone number after realizing; this was NOT the planet they wanted to destroy. they go the wrong address.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: I am immortal, and everybody loves Martin.^^ I KNOOOW! I knew you would love his little apartment thingy, he's just the most precious thing!/)^^(\**

 **This Is Sarcasm: There are multiple instances where I feel like Garrus is channeling Cayde-6... I can't wait to see if that crazy thessylhydra was real, or just a bad dream of Will's. if it's reality, well... oh, poopy. Padfoot would LOVE to hug you, but he had no arms.**

 **For some reason I feel like I should have a fan contest, but I'm not sure how many people would do it. If I _did_ do a thing, it would end on May4th, the original completion date for Fever(it just says june because I accidently deleted a chapter and had to re-post). I don't want to do anything if nobody's interested, so let me know in review if you think it's a good idea or if you'd compete. It would probably something along the lines of a single prize for fan art, a single prize for a one-shot about your favorite character or missing moment form the series, and single prize for 'thoughts that count'. 'Thoughts that count' as in, not everybody can draw, not everybody can write, so it would be okay to commission someone else for an art piece or one-shot in your stead. Be warned; if you don't give the artist credit... Amberstar will know. An I WILL be able to recognize a deviation from your usualy writing/grammer, based both off reviews, and your fanfics. If you fail to give the artist proper credit, and if you continue lying when we notice, it's Amber who will be on the attack. She hates art thieves. Mistakes will be forgiven, but liars will probably never sleep right again. TRUST ME: I do NOT want a repeat of the "incident" of '09...**

 **So, let me know what you guys think, blah blah blah, unlikely to get a whole lot of support on this, but I'll keep my fingers crossed. I'm going to go eat whip cream out of the can now.**

 **Next Time: Very vague 'bad things' happen in the Reef.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	15. Relapse

**Quote of the Day: _"There are only two things a child will share willingly; communicable diseases and his mother's age."_**

* * *

Petra jerked awake with a terrified gasp. She tore her covers off and dashed to her desk, hitting her palm down on the alert button on the corner, before fumbling with the pen that had been set to the side. Still gasping, as if she had never breathed before, she wrote, fast and messy, scrambling to get the words on paper.

 **Beware the raven.**

 **Welcome the raven.**

 **Kill the raven.**

 **The raven must live or all is lost.**

 **Ashes turn to wood, the betrayer yet lingers.**

 **SAVE HIM. STOP HER. WARN FAR!**

 **Beware the return of the-**

Her hand jerked, her whole body shuddering as she struggled to finish the sentence, but to no avail. Her single eye rolled into the back of her head, and she collapsed on her side with a strained whimper. After several long minutes, the door opened, and a bleary-eyed Variks stepped in. Spotting her, and yawning beneath his mask, he picked her up in his lower arms and carried her back to her bed. He exchanged a nod with Faroth as he passed the Awoken on his way out of the apartment.

Now alone with his unconscious old friend, the doctor heaved a worried sigh. _This thing is killing her..._ How much longer before these visions did permanent damage? They'd set up a system; every time she had a vision, she would press the panic button on her desk, which would alert him and Variks, who was still studying the remnants of the artifact that had caused all this.

So far, he had yet to find a way to reverse the affects. The most they could do was keep her comfortable after each vision happened, and make sure she woke up to a hot meal. That always seemed to help. Making sure the blankets were tucked over her tightly, as her body temperature always decreased drastically when this happened, he froze when his hand brushed the skin of her neck.

 _That's strange._ He thought. Her temperature was higher than normal after these occurrences... much higher. A fever. His brow creased with worry as he confirmed his suspicions; she was sick. He let out another heavy sigh. _The problems just never end for you, do they, Petra?_

* * *

When she began to wake up, Sierra immediately did not feel good. _Ugh! I got Reef cooties or something..._ Oh, well; it was only a matter of time, anyway. Awoken and Humans couldn't often catch the same illnesses, but there were some strains that both could be affected by.

She lay there for several long moments, until her alarm began to go off, and she reached out, shutting it down forlornly. After a few more moments, she sat up reluctantly, aches spreading from her head to her toes. And her sinuses felt like... well, actually, her entire body felt like a class A sack of Thrall spit right now.

She dug the palm of her hand into her forehead, trying to ward off her headache, and stood, mentally groan ing at all the aches, and made her way to the bathroom. There, she turned on the cold water, and splashed it on her face, and looked up at the mirror at her pale skin and bloodshot eyes. Could wild-longing affect one's appearance after too long? Could it manifest itself as true illness?

She doubted it. She took several deep breaths, and splashed more cool water on her face. Some desperate part of her hoped that the icy water would make the air smell fresher, more wild, like rain on the wind, but it didn't help in the slightest. She looked up at her face again, icy droplets dripping from her chin, some of her hair matted to her face.

She looked like some pathetic thing that someone had dragged out of a river, or a broken refugee fresh from a storm. She let out an involuntary shiver. The chill from the sickness wasn't helped by cold water. Drying her face and hands off with a nearby towel, she left and undid her cloak clasps, taking off her usual apparel. She switched it out for a wider cloak, made to honor the Cloud Walkers, pioneers among the stars as Hunters were among the wilds. She could wrap this cloak further around her shoulders; it was warmer that her usual one.

She left her room, and looked around the living space, before spotting her faithful companion. Walking over, she tapped Padfoot on the shell, and the Ghost's eye blinked to life. Shell stretching out, he rose from the little pocket he'd made for himself in the blanket that was crumpled on the couch. She recognized it from their ship, and figured he must have spent the whole night catching up on the Sparrow Races.

"Good morning!" He sighed, a tiny pulse of light flickering around his body. His shell pulled back together, and twisted as he looked her up and down. "you look awful."

 _"I feel like Thrall spit."_ she signed. _"Not bad enough to stay here, but enough to be a nuisance."_

Typically Guardians didn't get sick as much as normal members of their species, with the Light bolstering their immune systems, but there were always exceptions... like the disease, or various funks.

"Well, I bet you'll feel better after some coffee. Come on, you."

* * *

When Uldren woke up, the first thing he did was _panic_. Out of habit, he threw his armor on, so that he wouldn't have to suffer the indignity of rushing around screaming orders in his nightclothes. It was already too late for complete containment.

He felt sick. Literally. There was an ache at the back of his throat, and coughs kept bubbling up in his chest, put together with a head splitter. He'd caught Lyse yesterday, practically had to force her through decontamination. She'd been with Venj, debriefing her on the events on the ground. Foolish, foolish, _arrogant_ Lyse! Why couldn't that damn Warlock follow orders?

He had to reign the situation in as much as he could before this thing brought him to his knees. Even then, he had to try and manage things as best he could, but he'd learned over the years that managing a network from your hospital bed was much easier said then done, especially when afflicted with a deadly disease.

 _First priority; block all incoming and outgoing Crows._ He practically flew into the information suite of the Crows.

"Quarantine the Reef, now!" he yelled, startling several people. "Level Red! Get the Guardians contained, lock down the Vestian Outpost!"

* * *

"Black and bitter." Sierra nodded with thanks as the cup was set before her. Once alone, she reached into her pocket, and uncapped the tiny bottle of wild spices she kept with her. She sprinkled some of it in her coffee, and stirred. _A little taste of the wilderness._ A wise Hunter far from civilization didn't have a shop to get luxury coffee from, but could easily create a cup that smelled like home. Home was what she needed the most right now.

For a few moments she just sat there, wondering if she would even be able to smell it while sick, but then closed her eyes, drinking in the steamy wisps that carried with them scents she almost dreaded she would never encounter again. _I think I've been in longing for a bit too long..._ Cayde-6 had been stuck in the Tower for years, but he had access to the gardens, and fresh air. Out here in the Reef, there was only artificially produced oxygen. She hadn't been groundside since a foray on Mars before heading here shortly before the Wolf Rebellion.

She brought the cup to her lips, and relished the taste and warmth of it as it went down her throat. She felt better already, and the closest thing to 'at peace' she'd felt since coming here, despite the fact she was sick and in wild-longing.

"Um... Sierra..." her head went up at the sound of Padfoot's uneasy voice. The Ghost was looking around them, and she followed his gaze. Among the crowd, guards were rushing, and what looked to be Crow scouts among them as well. She stretched her neck to try and get a better view, as she _swore_ she saw someone in a hazmat suit running around.

"Sierra!" His shout came mere moments before a firm hand roughly clamped down on her shoulder. Instinctively, she twisted her arm out of their grasp, whirling and standing up. It was one of the Crows, and almost immediately after freeing herself, a different hand caught hold of her other arm. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, and she sent her fist into the second attacker's stomach.

"Hey!" The Crow shouted, grabbing her again, harder this time. She grabbed her coffee, and threw it in his face, leaving him to scream as she made a run for it.

"What's going on!?" Padfoot exclaimed as they made a break for the docks. "What gives!?"

 _"I don't know, but I'm not going to find out!"_ she signed quickly. Why would Uldren send his Crows after her? It wasn't like she'd trusted him or anything, but this was... _weird_. Unexplained and out of nowhere.

What was happen-

She let out a sharp gasp of pain as something pierced her left arm. She whirled around, twitching a knife into her hand, and threw. A sharp cry of pain answered her as the blade struck the coffee-stained crow in the shoulder. That was strange, she'd been aiming for the torso... she jerked the sharp, thin dart out of her arm, and tried to turn and run, but her legs wouldn't work.

 _No! What... what did he do to me... what did he do!?_

"Sierra? Sierra, stay with me!" the whole world was a blur, and Padfoot's form kept flickering away from reality. She shook her head trying to clear it, but felt herself fall... or was she?

"Damn you!" someone, probably the Crow she'd knifed, gave her a sharp kick in the side as everything spiraled away, earning an enraged exclamation from Padfoot that she didn't quite catch.

Then they were pinning her to the floor, binding her hands... her hands! They were putting a muzzle on her... she had to fight back, _kill them_. The most she managed was a feeble twitch, panic settling deep inside her, as voices faded all around her, and everything went dark.

* * *

She jerked awake with a gasp, immediately trying to move. She quickly discovered her arms and legs were pinned to the bed by straps. She looked around wildly. She was in a sterile white room, a monitor beeping in her ear, a one-way mirror set into the wall on the other side of the room.

Sierra struggled against the straps, trying to break her hands free. She was in white hospital threads, and her head was pounding even more than earlier, she felt even sicker than she had been, which didn't help her day any. Where was Padfoot?

She jerked against the restraints again, breath coming in panicked gasps. her voice. They'd taken away her voice in the world. She couldn't say a word, not a damn thing. She couldn't defend herself, physically or verbally. They'd taken away her knives, they'd taken away her Ghost.

Why would Uldren do this?

She screamed, thrashing, trying to free herself. The walls of this place, closing in, the sterile, lifeless air, choking her, the white, bright, unnatural light mocking her, the wild-longing, making her want to explode. The Reef was no place for a Hunter like her.

The room was a prison.

* * *

 **Yeah. This is cheerful. It's official: I have short-chapter-itis.**

 **THE TRAILERS! OH MY GOSH THE TRAILERS! So there I was, playing Destiny, when Amberstar screams at me from the computer, and what to I see when I get there? Cayde-6. Being awesome. Making sound effects with his mouth and rambling to a frame. And then the screenpans out...and Bungie has freed him.**

 **HE´S FREE!**

 **Then on thursday the frabjousness continued, and the fact the original Stargate movie was on later was what finally sent Amber into a fangirl coma. There was popcorn, and we went half the day wearing improvised Hunter cloaks(AKA, blankets). But, yeah, wee both been busy, between Senior projects, Mass Effect: Andromeda, and Age of Triumph. This chapter was late because I was uninspired... but then I discovered the Destiny 2 title theme on youtube, set it on a loop, and this chapter wrote itself. Hopefully the next one will come sooner. If not... I hate to say it, but it may end up that you guys have to hunker down and wait it out to summer before I can get another chapter in. The final school stretch is here, and it is NASTY.**

 **Furious Titan: My honor never has to be restored; my KDR in Supremacy is crazy.**

 **Guest: Because she´s a Hunter; you can exactly smell the rises if you've got a bucket on your head. That, and if you wear your helmet ALL THE TIME, people might start tot think something is up.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: I'm glad you liked it!**

 **jsm1978: You're welcome. Like I said to the guest above, people might become suspiscious if a HUNTER wears her helmet all the time. That, and she's used to working with Martin alone, who knows how to be careful around her, and it's just her face that's exposed, and the fedora kind of encourages not leaning in too far towards her head.**

 **Poor Sierra is awefully homesick. And regular sick. But does she have the disease made anew? And how will this all pan out in the end? If Petra's visions are anything to go by, things are going to get real pretty soon.**

 **Now, seeing as there was a major lack of enthusiasm for a fan contest, i'm not going to do one. Again, if might be a while until the next update, so hang in there. I changed my username briefly to "ArrowTwoTheKnee" and that's when the Katara profile pic happened for April Fools, Katara is staying until further notice for... reasons. Frabjous ones.**

 **Meanwhile, I shall go, and spend the next few months preparing for the Vault of Gary raid in Destiny 2...**

 **Next Time: Martin works the system to his advantage, and Uldren is forced to make a trade.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	16. Smoke and Mirrors

**Quote of the Day: _"Love is a wonderful thing, my dear, but it leaves you wide open for blackmail."_ **

* * *

The disease had been cured in the Reef, but the original formula, the equations and production, had all been done in the Last City. The Awoken had reserves of the original cure, but Pirsis' half-baked modified version of the disease wasn't too terribly responsive to it. Hearing Petra was one of those infected... it had filled Martin with a strange sort of bone-deep terror, the kind that made his hands shake.

He'd pulled some strings, for the first time using the fact that his was now a well-known name. The Skycast Order, who liked to focus on bio-tech and genetic engineering, had created the original cure, and when he brought the news and data from Variks that a new variant strain of the disease was on the loose in the Reef, the Warlocks had been more than up to the challenge.

It had been three days. Three days of waiting, three days of calling Variks every ten minutes for an update on Petra and the Reef situation.

 _Today is 187 infected, in a population of 200,000 overall in the Reef. Spreading beyond Vesta now._ The original disease had had a terrifying infection rate of 87.6%. This was a little slower... a little. For the first time, he was encountering a problem he couldn't help with. He wasn't a virologist in practice, not as much as he was other things. He knew about diseases, viruses. He could treat wounds, take care of infections and other physical injuries, but when it came to illness, the one thing that affected his life more than any other, he was helpless. He didn't have access to proper labs to be a virologist, not in practice. He wasn't a member or the Skycast Order, so he couldn't help; Orders tended not to take well to outsiders poking around their halls, even if it was for a good reason, and he didn't want to be rude.

All three Vanguards had signed off on the twenty-something Warlocks all working to cure the Reef. In an act that had caught even him by surprise, he'd volunteered to deliver it himself, much to Silverhawk's chagrin. She'd become like a wolf guarding it's food since the 'incident', rarely leaving the Tower if he wasn't, and even then, only short forays to keep the wild-longing at bay. She couldn't come with him to the Reef; she wasn't allowed. She had, rather loudly, expressed that she was not okay with him, the easily-sickified Martin Anton, should _not_ , repeat, _not_ , be the one to go to the Reef that was filled with a deadly disease.

He wasn't negotiating on the matter. The fact he was worried about Petra aside... there was one other thing he needed to do. He'd been trying and trying to figure out a way to get what he wanted-no, needed- and now he had it, in the literal palm of his hand.

He looked down at the key. The key to the case that contained a small batch of the cure, and the formula for making more. After killing the Heart of the Black Garden, when the Reef was evacuating the Royals, Uldren had called Silverhawk 'Subject Zero'. Martin, Birding, Tevis and Cayde alone knew what Certech's designation for her was. It stood to reason that Uldren's words could only mean one thing; the Prince had a source. None of the three people would ever reveal details about Certech and their Human Weapons project, so where had Uldren learned about it? For him to know that title, he must have gotten his hands on a major piece of information.

Information that could hold the answers to the deathtouch. If he could find even a few minor documents, such information would be priceless. Or better yet, a transcript from the facility it had happened at. He knew where that place was. But something was always... stopping him. Maybe it was what happened the last time he'd been there. Maybe he didn't want to see the place where his best friend was tortured for five years. Maybe he didn't want to see the blood stains near the pain room he'd left when his leg snapped in half.

Or maybe he was just afraid. A coward true to his nature.

But part of him knew... the best way to find a solution was to know the cause of the problem deep beneath the surface. But the problem was on the surface, the surface of Silverhawk's skin, which he had seen every day but never touched. The thought had occurred to him, a number of times, that he was so desperate to cure this problem not for her sake, but his own. She was, by all accounts, his sister. But not one had he laid a bare finger on her. He couldn't even hug her.

One thing he could admit to himself, was that that _hurt_. He could put his hand on her back, he could squeeze her shoulder, he could grab her by the wrist and run away with her, but he could never put his arms around her when she cried. Their heads would touch, perhaps just brushing by, and he would drop dead at her feet. How did you spend half your life living with someone, but never once give them a hug?

He looked at the nav system. What he was about to do... the things he was about to say... could kill him, or change everything. He brought up a device and expanded it; the same thing he'd used to hack a door on Mars a while back, an incident he'd nearly not survived.

"Wheatly?" he called out. The Ghost tentatively emerged from his pocket.

"Are you sure about this?" for once the fearful quiver in his companion's voice was well-founded. Martin stared blankly at the device.

"I'm certain. This is the best-the _only_ -way to get what we need from him." he answered quietly. "He wouldn't put lives in danger."

"How do we know? He's _Uldren_." Wheatly pointed out.

"I like to think I'm an excellent judge of character. If his own people are as risk, he might do anything." Martin reasoned. "Begin the hack. Catch his attention."

* * *

Apparently, he was more resilient to this new illness than others. Similar stories were cropping up all around the med bay. People who had been afflicted with the original disease were actually _beating_ the new sickness within a matter of days.

Uldren cracked his neck, still feeling off, but well enough now that he could managed his network. He'd only briefly come down with the original disease, during the wait for the cure to finish being made, but it had been enough.

"She tested negative for the disease, but we're keeping her restrained and in lockdown until you decide what to do with her." his Crow, Revia, informed him.

"What's this I hear about a kick?" he grunted, voice still raw from two days spent coughing.

"To be fair, sir, she did throw her knife at him." she pointed out.

"I don't care; she was down. I saw the footage, and I expect better from my Crows. Tell Alag he's on drone maintenance until further notice." he snapped. "As for Rogers, remove the restraints but keep her in lockdown."

Revia gave him an odd look, hesitating. "What?"

"That might not be the best idea, sir. You should see her; she's in there acting like a wild animal. Sure, it could be some Guardian thing, but she might hurt herself if we don't keep her strapped down." she told him. A light on his wrist interface blinked.

"I'll handle it later; just make sure the docks are cleared for when the cure arrives. It'll be here tomorrow." _Hopefully before anyone dies from this._ He glanced across the room, at the door leading to major quarantine. Lyse was in one of those rooms, barely holding out, as the first one exposed. She hadn't had the original disease, so she was also one of the ones this was hitting harder than most. Petra Venj was in there as well.

There had been... complications when retrieving Rogers, which he would have to see to sooner than later. Revia nodded and left. He stood, and went to an empty room to take his call, bringing up the screen on his interface. Suspicion and shock crashed down on him when he saw a familiar face; Martin Anton's face.

 **"Hello, Uldren."** the Warlock greeted.

"What," he growled, "are you doing on a secure Crow channel?"

 **"I hacked it. I'm a genius with a 180 IQ, remember?"** Martin replied off-handedly. **"I'll calling because I have your cure. I'm waiting just outside the Reef."**

"Our communications said the cure would be here in a day." Something was wrong here.

 **"That transmission was fake. I sent it, intercepted the real one."** There was something very grim and... real about the Warlock's voice and expression, not at all like the young man he remembered from the quest for the cure and the Black Garden incident. **"And if you don't do what I say... I'll be chased by Fallen pirates, mis-maneuver near Venus, crash land, and by the time they get to me and retrieve the supplies, hundreds of Awoken will already be dead.** **"**

"You-" he started angrily.

 **"I know you have a source on Certech. I want it. All of it. Every last byte."** Rage coursed through him. _How dare he! HOW. DARE. HE!_

"Anton," he said through grit teeth, "you will deliver that cure _now_ , or I'll have you blasted into the vacuum."

 **"And how will you explain to the Tower that you murdered a Guardian? And I have an explosive device attached to the shipment; it's tuned to my vitals. The moment my heart stops beating, the cure will be destroyed. You wouldn't be able to salvage any of it, and by the time a new shipments is sent- _if_ they send it to you, seeing as you will have killed the last delivery boy-hundreds will still have died. Is that what you want, Prince Uldren? All I'm asking for is your information. Aren't hundreds worth that?" ** There was a glint in those green eyes that was almost... frightening.

 **"Aren't they?"** He clenched his fist. _The little space urchin is blackmailing me!_ He should have the Warlock killed, but he was right; there would never be a good way to explain killing a Guardian. And if he tried, he would be forced to reveal the information involved, and that could make him some very dangerous enemies.

"You're bluffing."

 **"I'm not. Do you really want to take the chance?"**

His mind drifted, for the first time in a while, to Himalay's data pad, hidden away in his room under lock and key. Giving Martin Anton information on Silverhawk's deathtouch could be dangerous. He'd been proven they weren't a duo of psychotic murderers, but if the information on that pad could be used to make her more powerful... Who knew what might happen if he gave in to this demand.

But if hundreds died because that Warlock ran off with the cure or destroyed it... there _were_ people who wouldn't make it in time for a new batch to arrive. As much as he _hated_ Lyse...

" _Fine_." He grit his teeth. The words felt like poison in his mouth. This was treason. Treason, treason, treason. "I'll bring it to the Vestian Outpost docks."

 **"And I'll bring the cure."** With those curt words, Martin disconnected from the line. Uldren leaned back, pressing his body against the wall and rubbing his face with one hand. _What am I doing?_

* * *

His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. Uldren stood across from him, a data drive clutched in one hand, golden eyes slits of a murderous glare. His own good hand clutched the handle of the torso-sized cooler that contained the cure, and he could feel his blood flooding through the veins in his neck. His head pounded along with the beat of his heart, and his fight or flight instincts were kicked into high gear. Inside Martin was terrified.

But inside Martin was inside for a reason. This was a job for outside Martin, and outside Martin alone. He thought of them as two separate people. The real him, then the him he had to be to deal with a person like the Prince of the Reef. Inside Martin was scared, strained against every aspect of what he was doing, what he had done, and said, to acquire this information. Inside Martin was curling up under his bed covers until he was allowed out of his room again.

Outside Martin knew what had to be done. He didn't care. His face was an emotionless mask. He grimly acknowledged what inside Martin was feeling, and sympathized; but didn't care. Outside Martin had a job to do, so inside Martin just had to be locked away for a little bit. Outside Martin had never existed before, never been necessary. He hoped, when all this was over, maybe outside Martin could go away forever, and be forgotten. Left to quietly sit in the background as a footnote regarding an act that inside Martin abhorred.

Outside Martin was a temporary projection he'd been working on for the last few days, ever since he knew what he was going to do here. Outside Martin was necessary _now_. All he had to do was keep inside Martin, the real Martin, at bay. To keep from messing this up like he messed everything up. Outside Martin was created for a purpose that inside Martin just couldn't fulfill; be brave. Cunning and cold. Make the hard call, play the part, if only just for a little while.

Outside Martin met Uldren's gaze steadily, while inside Martin tried to resist puking. Some of that showed a little bit in the change of color to outside Martin's face, the paling of the skin. The arm Askor had nearly ripped off was still in a sling. That was slightly annoying. His mobility was limited if Uldren did make a hostile move.

"I have the cure. Now give me the data." he said curtly. Uldren looked like he might explode with rage.

"And you'll be true to your word? Remove the bomb?" The Prince asked.

"I don't lie." _I am the embodiment of falsehood at this moment._ Here he was, projecting outside Martin, pretending to be something he wasn't, only for this crucial moment, upon which everything hinged.

He thought he saw a shadow flicker at the edge of his vision. A person fleeing? He hoped not. The last thing he needed was for someone to see this. If word got out... it would be the end of everything. He turned his attention back to his task. He let go of the case, and held out his hand.

"The data first. I don't trust you not to back out on your word."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I know you, Prince Uldren. You hate me. You hate everything Guardian."

"That's not true-"

"Then why are you keeping a Hunter locked up like she's an animal? Why have you kept her off the ground and away from the wild?"

"How do you know about that!?" Uldren hissed. Outside Martin looked down on his angry opponent with a steady green stare.

"I hacked your comms; what makes you think I couldn't get access to her records here? You don't know the first thing about Hunters, do you? What happens if you keep them away from the wild for too long? The way their very souls seem to scream for freedom? You wouldn't know about wild-longing, would you. You hate Guardians, so you don't care about our well-being. But let me promise you this." When he got going, he couldn't stop. He stalked up to Uldren until there was only an inch between them, nose to nose, a heavy power, like... lightning ready to crack the air as the two of them glare death at one another, Uldren's eyes dark murder, outside Martin's defiant spring growth after the harsh frost of winter. "If you kill me when I walk away from here, that Hunter... _will_ kill you. Without mercy. We're Guardians. We care about each others well-being."

There was, for a fraction of a second as he said all this, a flicker in Uldren's gaze, that told outside Martin exactly what he needed to know. He'd struck a nerve. _Now to push for the last strike._ There was a strange sort of strength, trance-like, like a... a storm, the eye of a storm. It left inside Martin speechless, staring, and it fed itself to outside Martin, fueling his words. This blackmail, these words, Uldren, was all a storm, in which he was at the center, the eye, ever-calm and rendering all near his epicenter into chaos the eye wall of a hurricane.

Uldren gave an odd jerk as Martin realized all this. For one moment, there was fear in his eye, the 'truly freaked out' kind. He cast the moment aside, and held out his hand. Keeping his gaze locked with Martin's, Uldren pressed the data drive roughly into the palm of the Warlock's good hand. He backed away.

"Thank you. In case you were wondering, I'm doing this for the greater good." he nodded to the prince, an electric, ecstatic feeling rising in his chest as he felt the small weight in his hand. He slipped it into his sling, to join his damaged arm in the cradle. The skin still looked raw, the scars, fresh and puckered. They would fade, until long forgotten. He was a Guardian.

Uldren scoffed.

"I'm doing it to cure her." _that_ caught his attention. His very _surprised_ attention. _Could you actually do it? Is it even possible?_ He could read the questions in the gold burn of what had to be the person he hated most in the world, aside from those who had done this to Heather in the first place.

"I don't care." the Prince leered after a short while. He could see in his gaze he saw little to no success in the Warlock's immediate future. He would prove him wrong. He would prove them all wrong. "Now removed the device."

Instead, he backed away, turning to head for decontamination and quarantine; he would need to be kept under watch for a little while, considering his history with illness.

"What are you doing! We had a deal!" Uldren yelled after him. For some reason, the sound of his gun readying didn't frighten him; not even inside Martin cowered, still perplexed by the storm. He opened the door and led inside Martin out, letting outside Martin melt into the place he wasn't needed. He looked back at the prince.

"That's the thing, Uldren. You were right; I _was_ bluffing."

* * *

 **I never thought I would ever use the word "dark" to describe Martin but that was... probably the trippiest thing I've ever written, right there.**

 **I know I said it might be a while until the next update, possibly the summer, but... the inspiration that came from the several-hour Destiny 2 title theme loop is still lingering, and this is the result. That moment, when you push past the nightmare chapter that took forever to write, and you feel free once more.**

 **jsm1978: Yeah, I imagine air that's artificially produced would have kind of a stale, metallic smell to it in a place like the Reef. Yeah, she does seem to take the brunt of the bad luck in this series so far...**

 **Furious Titan: Uhhh... yeah... Wolfsbane kind of intensified there...*shoves several future chapters under a carpet discretely* Yeah, Lice has this problem; she can kick butt like nobody's business, but she's still got some lingering arrogance from her younger self. Nope, no quests; just Martin totally THRASHING Uldren in a ransom conversation. And Lyse doesn't shoot Uldren; her style is more 'stab stab, those are my terms'.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Cayde is free. Kind of; as a Hunter, she's free. Out in the wild, there's nobody around to complain about her muteness, and since all her fireteams left her, or didn't work out, the loner life out in the wilderness away from all that stress and doubt is therapeutic to her. Here in the Reef, she's not welcome AT ALL, and Uldren's misguided attempt at keeping her alive and away from Lyse by keeping her away from the wild is NOT HELPING.**

 **alienraptor: Lice the Onion did it, and I think half the fandom will always refer to Ghaul as "Gary" because of Cayde-6.**

 **This chapter is a little longer than the last one, which hopefully makes up for that. Again, not sure when my next update will be; could be months from now, could be a week. First time writing this trance-like state of Martin's, if you've been reading carefully, particularly in past chapters, it becomes quite clear this little guy is packing some serious heat... somewhere. It's somewhere in his glorious, Martin-y mind palace, somewhere close to the waffle room. Yes; he has a waffle room in his mind palace. A room solely dedicated to waffles. Who wouldn't?**

 **Next Time: Sierra has had _enough_ , and a sinister someone wants something from our favorite mute...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	17. Deeply Away

**Quote of the Day:** ** _"_** ** _We need the tonic of wildness...At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature."_**

* * *

Uldren sat with his head resting back against the wall. The cure was being replicated and distributed to those who needed it. His thoughts swarmed in his head like swirling space dust, an undercurrent of anger running continuously under it.

He had been, honestly, a little shocked that Martin had actually got down and dirty, sank his fangs into flesh for once. But what he had said about Rogers had struck something in him. _It's not true._ He _cared_ about the people under his command! The filthy Warlock had no right to say otherwise, he didn't know what he was talking about!

And yet... this whole time he'd been trying to keep Rogers and Lyse separate, trying to make sure the Hunter survived... had he _really_ been doing more harm than good? He knew that Hunters preferred to go their own way in the wilderness, but this was the first time he'd heard of this 'wild-longing' before, or it's affects. He'd done careful research on guardian abilities before working with them in full, but it had never occurred to him that there were psychological complications in any of the three classes.

Then there had been that moment, up close. Thinking back, it could have just been a trick of the mind, but for the briefest of moments... there had been a flicker of lightning deep in Martin's eyes. And that had, admittedly, unsettled him, considering how the Warlock had been acting. _I should have him killed in quarantine._

As much as he wanted to do it, there was no way to cover it up completely, and the Warlock was right; maybe Lyse wouldn't care about one dead Guardian, but Rogers? He didn't know her well, but something told him she would take aggressive action if she ever found out he'd had a Guardian killed. And Martin had brought an interesting question to mind, one he was a little perturbed by; could Rogers kill him? Given the chance and the motive, and a knife, could she kill the Prince of the Reef?

That was no question; he's seen her fight. She _could_. He felt a shiver slip up his spine. _And she has the motive. Right now._ He'd ordered her locked away, and kept her away from the wilds, and from what Revia had said, the the mute wasn't in the right state of mind at the moment. She had the motive, and the capability. The only thing he had control over was if she had the means. _I could lengthen the process of returning her knives..._ the thirty-two knives found on her person, to be exact, not counting the one that had been thrown at Alag.

 _On second thought... probably not the best idea._ He wanted to try to instill trust, not further animosity. Though he would never really 'like' Guardians, considering his past experiences with them, he found Rogers a great deal easier to stand and work with than Silverhawk, Martin, or Lyse. _Not that you've actually done much_ work _with her..._

He took a steadying breath. He couldn't put this off; he had to reign in the situation, smooth as many of the Hunter's ruffled feathers as he could before she took things to an extreme. Hopefully that extreme wouldn't involve bullets and knives, if it came to that.

* * *

She stepped out of the room without a sound and with stiff, empty movement. Here face was blank, staring ahead, her silver-blue eyes guarded with a flare of desperation and anger hidden within their depths.

"Sierra!" Padfoot flew over, hovering over and zooming around her, examining every inch of her, shell twisting and clicking with distress as he was released at last to his Guardian. After inspecting her wrists, which were bloodied by her time spent trying to free herself, he turned with and angry whir, glaring at Uldren. "You're an idiot, you know that, right? You all are! You could see very clearly how distressing this was for her, and it looks to me like you never did so much as give her a tissue! We should never have agreed to coming here!"

"You had very little choice in the matter, Ghost. Your Tower sent you." he grunted. "Rogers, I had to learn about this 'wild-longing' from a third party. If you had told me about it, some of this situation could have been avoided."

"If you'd bothered learning about Guardians at all, you would have known about wild-longing from the start!" Padfoot snapped. Rogers didn't react to the conversation, continuing to stare at nothing. "Your dumb people should have let her out of quarantine the moment they realized she didn't have the disease! We weren't given so much as a warning as to what was happening, just grabbed out of the blue! And restraining her hands? Her _hands_? If I were an Exo... _oh_ , if I were an Exo you'd all be paste on a wall somewhere right now..."

Rogers tapped his shell, signing something. Whatever it was, it didn't keep the Ghost from glaring at the Prince as his Guardian began to walk away, still not looking at any of them.

"You'll find you weapons in your quarters, gear up and stand by for further operations." Uldren called after her. She seemed to hear him, but didn't acknowledge him. Uldren pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, trying to cast away the prickle of guilt in the back of his mind. He had, indeed, made a mistake.

 _I'll have to keep a close eye on her..._ This incident had clearly destabilized her. He would have to find some reason to send her ground side soon, start on damage control. Lyse was down, he didn't feel like risking Revia or any of his remaining Crows, Variks was all on his own with directing separate strikes, with Petra unavailable, leaving Rogers as his only direct resource; a resource he couldn't afford to lose right now, mute or not.

* * *

She opened the door. The room she'd been given was as she'd left it. View screen. Table. Plant. Sword. Iron Banner collection. She looked at it all. She felt empty, devoid of all hope. She could never trust a single soul.

Not all those fireteams. Not life. Not Prince Uldren, not the reef, not anybody. Just Padfoot, and herself. That was how it had always been; alone in the wilds with nothing to hold her back, with no-one to judge her, no-one to question her. Out there, she was free.

In that room, with her voice silenced, her heart calling desperately to the outside world she missed so much, she went deeply away. Away to the back of her mind, shutting everything out, even the wild-longing. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill. She wanted to cry.

She wanted _out_. She had had _enough_.

Spotting her knives laid out on the kitchen table, she marched to her room, threw off the quarantine clothes, and suited up in her armor, which had been laid out on her bed. Jaw set, she returned each knife to it's sheath, as Padfoot watched on grimly, silently.

She had had _enough_.

She took each of her Iron Banner weapons off the wall, setting them on the floor. She took the sword down as well, and the decorative knives.

She had had _enough_ of the Reef.

 _"Let's go."_ she signed. She didn't care how much trouble she got in. Zavala could exile her, Uldren could try to hunt her down; she wouldn't care, and the Prince would never find her, she'd make sure of that.

"Do you want to bring the plant?" Her faithful Ghost asked. She shook her head; her palm tree had been one of her few comforts during her stay here, but it carried the unpleasant memories of that stay as well.

"Locking on... and bringing you it!" They would have to be quick about unlocking and leaving. The two of them, and her belongings, disappeared in the flash of a transmat.

Lucky, they were, too, as roughly a minute afterwards... the door to her quarters crept open.

* * *

Uldren was just beginning to think he might have a chance of fixing things with Rogers when Revia called in. A fool, he was, too, to think so hopefully.

 **"Sir, this is Revia Nis; the Hunter's ship just left the outpost. He Ghost overrode docking controls."** he swore loudly, turning away from the transport that _would_ have been taking him back to Vesta-4.

"I'm on it." he grumbled. _Why can't something go_ right _for once!?_

 **"Actually, sir, I'm at her apartment. You better get down here... we found something."** she informed him.

"Can it wait?" he asked impatiently, striding towards the docks at a rapid pace.

 **"No. It's... it's Della Tay's calling card, sir."** he froze, ice pouring through his blood. _Rogers..._

He changed direction and ran for the living quarters, blood pounding. _Best case scenario; Rogers went AWOL. Worst, much more likely case... one more Guardian on Tay's list of kills._ One more tooth to hang from around the assassin's neck. He felt something twist inside of him at the thought that he might have somehow been the cause of this, that Roger's association with the Reef, coupled with the fact he'd kept her away from most dangers, might have made Tay think the Huntress was important to him somehow.

It was unlikely, but at the same time entirely possible that taking Rogers was an attempt to get to him. But why steal the Hunter's ship? To try and make it look like Rogers ran away on her own accords, as least until someone check the apartment and found the evidence?

He skid to a halt, panting, in front of Revia, standing grim-faced next to the door of Rogers' temporary quarters.

"It's inside." she told him. It looked like the lock had been forced open. When he entered, he found the potted plant the Hunter had twisted his arm in order to get authorized(he didn't think plants in _temporary_ quarters in space were a good idea) tipped on the floor, quite literally uprooted with the pot broken on it's side, dirt covering the floor as if someone had been looking for something within it.

The couch was tipped over, with multiple knife marks, fabric torn away, also as if someone had been searching. The viewing screen was shattered on the floor, just like multiple broken light bulbs, the cupboards in the kitchen ransacked with some of the back panels broken out. Someone had trashed the place, but it didn't like like there had been a fight.

He checked the bedroom, dread still swirling inside him, expecting any moment to find tell-tale spatters of blood. Maybe a reddened knife from either party. The bed was upended, ripped apart angrily. The contents of the bathroom were likewise, but there was still no sign of a fight.

 _Maybe Rogers wasn't taken after all..._ but he had to be certain. He had to find her. Even if she had gone AWOL, it was is duty to make sure she wasn't actually in danger before calling the desertion in.

"She can't have gone far, I'm going to go after her. Is her Ghost still linked to our network?" he asked Revia, jaw clenched as he glance down at the coffee table; a curved knife with an animal tooth tied to it's handle was embedded in the wood.

"It disconnected just before you got here; they haven't left the belt yet." she said. _Then they haven't hit NLS yet..._ there was still a chance.

"Lock down the Reef, set up a perimeter, triple the guard on the Queen, keep her in the bunker. I'm going after Rogers, set up a protection detail on Lyse and that other Warlock just in case." he didn't mention Martin by name. But if Tay went after one Guardian in the Reef, he couldn't risk her going after the others. As much as he hated both the Warlocks, _nobody_ deserved a death by the hands of Della Tay.

"Got it. And the calling card?" she waved a hand at the knife.

"Throw it out an airlock." he said, striding out of the room. This was a nightmare. _They haven't hit NLS yet, they aren't too far away..._

Out in the hall, he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. It was chance, a far-fetched one, but a chance, and he had to try. He'd never tired to contact someone like this who wasn't of Royal blood, let alone a non-Awoken. Be he had to try. If he could at least get a feel for where she was going...

He reached out, focusing on Rogers, every detail. The pale hair, silver-blue eyes piercing the air itself, igniting with an inner fire as she drew a flaming knife and threw it as a Fallen. The knives, countless knives, how she always reached for one whenever she was startled, angry, or stressed. Her bladed answer to everything. That screaming silence of her; and for the first time he realized her face was always grim and unreadable, not a single smile that he'd ever seen. That blank look when she was let out of quarantine...

He drew in a sharp breath as his mind brushed hers. There was a sharp anger, a rage, a determined anguish of un-belonging. _No more, no more, no more._ She was done, through. Needed the wild, heart aching, Light straining, the artificial air suffocating. Bloodied circles on her wrists from the restrains still hurt; didn't care. _Needed to go, needed to go, needed to go..._ to an apple tree. Michigan. Blast of joy an excitement _wild, wild; I'm giving myself the wild_ _no more Reef_.

He strained to make out more, to maintain the connection, to figure out _exactly_ where she was going. Something in the Hunter tensed _what was that_ and it was like a barrier crashing down on him, shutting him out. He gave a jerk and a pained gasp, head pounding and body filled with ice. He shook his head. _She sensed me? How is that possible?_ Then again, he'd never been inside a Human mind before; anything was possible.

Shivering, he set his jaw and ran for the docks. He could catch up to her. He could melt with relief that she wasn't in Tay's grasp later, but for now he had to confront her about going AWOL. No-one went AWOL on Uldren Sov, and got away with it.

* * *

 **Was originally going to be longer, but then I decided the rest would better fit next chapter. And yup; the inspiration is still going strong! I could end at any given moment, though.**

 **Order and Chaos: Yay, you're back! Which favorite Huntress? We've got several of them now. And yeah, poor Martin likes to give hugs, but he can't give any to his bestie. It really is a little bit distressing for him.**

 **alienraptor: Martin's just that good. It is my headcanon that when in StormTRANCE, a Warlock kind of goes off to their own place in a weird sort of detached state.**

 **jsm1978: I facepalmed and laughed at the same time. just so you all know... I FIXED THIS, OKAY! I DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE!**

 **Furious Titan: Horrific injuries? *laughes nervously* I don't know what you're talking about!*whispers to self* scrap the shrapnel launcher to the gut scene... And no, I don't really write anything down as a prewrite; I just kind of barf up on to the keyboard whatever's on my mind for the chapter, but I _do_ know where I'm going with this series, so no need to worry.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Yes, Martin was a boss. And I saw you finally got a profile; congrats and welcome! Nice "Snowman" parody, BTW.**

 **Mantic64: I addressed this in PM.**

 **Guest(#1): It's not just based on Cayde; it's based on grimiore, flavor text, and the explorative nature of the class.**

 **Guest(#2): LITTLE MARTIN IS _NOT_ CRAZY! HOW COULD YOU SUGGEST SUCH A THING! Since I physically can't write down direct spoilers, just read my reply to alienraptor's review. He's NOT a sociopath, either, okay.**

 **Well, ya'll better get ready for Della Tay to rear her ugly head again. I think some of you will actually cheer during the next chapter; I hinted at something in Wolfsbane. Something legendary. Somethi- *Amberstar bursts through the door with a megaphone***

 **Amber: "WELCOME LADIES AND TITANS, TO THE WWE FEATURED SMACKDOWN! THIS WEEK; ROGER VERSUS TAY! WILL TAY GET A KNIFE TO THE FACE, OR WILL PADFOOT BUMP HER OFF A CLIFF!? PLACE YOUR BETS, FOR NEXT WEE-"**

 **GET OUT OF MY FANFICTION!*gives chase***

 **Next Time: What she said. Above.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	18. In Defense of Padfoot

**Quote of the Day:** _**"To me, sometimes, a mute sky is more expressive than the roaring sea."**_

* * *

Sierra took a deep breath as she stepped down the ramp. The air was still crisp form a recent rain, and the morning chorus was in full swing as the sun peeked over the trees. She felt full, full of life again, and for a few moments she simply stood there, boots on the grass, drinking in all the smells and sounds. The chorus, the branches creaking in the breeze, scent of winter. She looked up at the painted sky, the gold's, the fiery oranges and reds, the periwinkles and dark nights being chased away to the west.

A smile broke her lips for the first time in weeks. Her wrists still throbbed, still hurt. But now she was free; there was no-one here to see her, no-one here to watcher, to make her look over her shoulder. She didn't need to modify herself out here. Out here, in the wild... she could be herself.

With a whoop and howl of laughter, she charged at the hill, and cartwheeled down it. Landing on her back, she took her gloves off, and gripped the grass, sank her fingers into the mud, relishing the feeling of life beneath her skin. She could sense Padfoot watching her, lazily flying around somewhere above her. Subconsciously she kept an ear and an eye out for aerial predators; she loved the wilderness, but sometimes it was no place for a Ghost.

For a few moments, she just lay there, breathing calmly with the grass brushing her cheeks. All the exhaustion and stress was melting, melting, melting away into the cold winter grass. Her breath misted out like starlight, and though the cold bit her nose, she still welcomed it; the chill wasn't too terribly bad this morning. She was _exhausted_ , so tired. _Should be a nice little tree to curl up in somewhere..._

She looked around, and got up, striding into the forest. The rising sun glinted off the ravine nearby, old, rusted structures below a testament to what had been, building constructed by man now filled with birds nests, and the occasional owl or bat. A few opossums here or there, she would imagine, as well. Raccoons? No questions needed.

Ever.

* * *

Uldren went down silently, guiding his ship to Old Michigan. He didn't know exactly where Rogers would set down, but his radar would ping her ship; he'd set a tracker in there to keep an eye on her position during missions. As glad as he was-ecstatic, really-that she had _not_ , in fact, been taken by Della Tay, she had left without warning. She'd gone AWOL.

 _To be fair, I would be put up with the Reef as well, if it were me..._ he shook his head to clear away the thought, passing it off as being brought on by getting in the Hunter's mind space rather than actual empathy. There was _nothing_ that excuse her behavior.

His radar beeped, and he felt a flash of grim satisfaction. She had set down in a field of some sort, near an old apple farm. He brought his ship down a short distance away, and popped the hatch. The ramp of her ship was lowered, but if she wasn't inside, then there was no way she hadn't heard his ship landing, not out here.

He took a crow drone out from the compartment behind his seat. It's eyes blinked open, and it regarded him.

"Find Hunter Sierra Rogers. She's in this area." he told it.

"Yes master." it took off, circling the skies as it searched. He drew his gun, and made his way over to her ship. Carefully making his way up the ramp, he peered inside. Nothing. Lowering his weapon, he made his way up to the cockpit, and took off his glove, feeling the seat. Stone cold; she'd been gone for a while. No sign of her Ghost, either.

He went back out into the cold, putting his glove back on, and studied the ground for tracks. The grass and mud had been disturbed; she had definitely left. His attention was turned to the flapping of wings, and he held out his wrist for his crow to land on it.

"I have located her." it informed him, taking off again in the direction of ravine. He ran after it, sunlight breaking through the trees and flashing in his vision, until it stopped to circle above. He came to a halt, and continued quietly. Old undergrowth crunched beneath his boots, and he gave a small shiver as a cold breeze blew over him. How long had Rogers been out here?

He looked up, frowning, as he realized there was no sign of her anywhere. Has his crow malfunctioned?

He froze at the _click_ sound of a readied gun. _Space urchins._ he put his hands up, and turned slowly, to see no barrel gazing him in the eye. A throat cleared from somewhere above him, and he looked up into the boughs of the bare apple tree next to him to see rogers glaring down at him, gun in hand. Her eyes were bleary with sleep, and one side of her face was slightly red with the pattern of the bark, as if he'd caught her napping.

Her Ghost peeked over her head, and glared at him as well.

"You know, it's really hard to get some peace and quiet when annoying Reef Princes keep following us around." he commented.

"You went AWOL!" he shouted, not caring about the gun pointed at his head.

"Because you're a _jerk_!" Padfoot countered. "The Reef is no place for us, just ask the Vanguard for a different Guardian! We don't belong there, and it's been made clear by plenty of people that we're not wanted, or cared about in that place. We're done."

"Is that Rogers talking, or is that just _you_?" anger flaring up inside him, the words left his mouth without thinking. Rogers pulled back the hammer on her gun, a sneer of contempt playing across her face. He could, in that moment, see it in her eyes; she would have no remorse shooting him then and there. What had he done, to push her _that_ far? _I can't help you if_ you _don't tell me what I'm doing wrong here._

Come to think of it... why was he so determined to get Rogers back at the Reef? Maybe it was because he wanted a second chance. Maybe it was because he'd inadvertently failed with her. Maybe it was because he didn't want to go ground side with Lyse without reliable backup.

Or maybe he _should_ just forget the mute. That was all she was after all. Or maybe it was that line of thinking that had cause him to fail in the first place. There were plenty of other Guardians he could get from the Vanguard. He could tell them Rogers went AWOL, they would handle her.

"You know what, fine; stay out here in the wild." he threw his hands up in defeat. "I'm done with you, _mute_."

She pulled the trigger, shooting the ground at his feet. He resisted the urge to draw and fire back with his own weapon as his heart leaped up his throat.

"Allow me to translate." Padfoot offered. "She _said_ ; GET LOST!"

Leering at her, he turned abruptly back in the direction of his ship. _No better than Silverhawk._ He grumbled mentally as his crow followed overhead, and his heart rate slowed. _I should ask for a Titan; Hunters are always just trouble waiting to happen._

His blood began to boil. She'd gone AWOL, _and_ taken a shot at him... well, the ground at his feet, but she still could have blown a toe off. He didn't need that. Above, his drone flew ahead...

And dropped to the ground as a single shot rang out. He froze, heart beginning to pound once again. His eyes scanned the trees. There was no way that had been Rogers getting in a last word, her weapon didn't have that kind of range, and there were too many branches in the way of a clear shot. Which meant... someone was waiting at the landing zone.

He turned and ran back the way he'd come, drawing his gun. _Tay's calling card at the Reef, that didn't sound like a Fallen rifle, too many coincidences!_ He'd been followed, or Rogers had, and he hoped and wished with all his might that it wasn't who he thought it was, but he knew in his heart that it was.

"Rogers!" he called as he approached her tree. He registered the sound before he registered the pain, and vaguely, he was aware of the fact that they must have moved into the trees after shooting down his crow. He shouted with pain as the bullet hit his back, the impact downing him to the forest floor. He thought he heard Roger's Ghost shout his name, but he was busy focusing on breathing.

Had it hit near his heart? Had it punctured a lung? Had it even made it past his armor? He didn't think so. He wasn't even sure it had made it to his flesh. Another bullet whizzed overhead and struck a tree.

"Stay up!" he hissed, hoping they could hear him. He grabbed his gun, and crawled over to another tree, taking cover behind it. He took in sharp breaths between his teeth, wincing. If it hadn't hit flesh, that that shot would certainly leave a terrible bruise, and the dented metal sticking into his back was starting to make breathing painful. He peeked out into the trees, and thought he saw the barrel of a rifle sticking out from behind one trunk.

 _Come on, you cowards... show yourselves so I can put a bullet between your eyes..._

* * *

 _"Can you tell how bad he's hit from here?"_ Sierra asked as her Padfoot leaned out top try and get a better look at the Prince.

"Not really, but I can't see any blood. Whoever's doing this, I don't think they're using armor-piercing rounds." he said, looking back at her. _So he was only stunned._ _Guess he was destined to get shot today._ If not by her, then someone else. Part of her was jealous of whomever had pulled the trigger. She unsheathed one of her knives. Whoever it was, she'd still be more than happy to see a handle sticking out of their forehead. It would give her a chance to vent her frustrations.

"Now, now, Uldren; come out and plaaaay!" _These people_ know _him!?_

"Oh, well that's not creepy _at all_." Padfoot commented. Suddenly, a shadow darkened the bark, and the Ghost let out a screech as what seemed to be a copper missile crashed through the branches. A heavy wing whacked her in the face, and she let out a gasp as sharp, metal feathers cut into her cheek.

"Sierra!" She tried to grab her Ghost, by metal feathers whipped against her arm, unable to slice through her wire weave, but hurting like a thousand needles striking her none the less. The mechanical falcon tore off into the sky with Padfoot locked in it's talons. She screamed, terror locking her bones for a fraction of a second. It was flying off in the direction of Uldren's attacker.

Anger thrummed through her. _Nobody_. Touched. Padfoot.

The moment of terror passed, and she launched herself off the tree, ignoring Uldren's warning. She dashed through the trees, weaving as the rifle-bearer tried to shoot her. As she pass his tree, she rolled to place another trunk between herself and another bullet, and then threw her knife, one knee on the ground, right into his throat. The Awoken man clutched the handle, choking, as he felt to the ground, and she continued to run. She wasn't jealous anymore.

She could no longer see the shape of the falcon through the branches, but she knew where it had been headed. She couldn't hear Uldren following her; she wouldn't care if he was. All that mattered was getting her Ghost back. He wasn't dead, she knew he couldn't be. She would feel it. She would be unable to use her Light if he died, the essential link between Guardian and Ghost would be severed.

She burst out on the ravine, and caught a glimpse of the falcon swooping down over a building on the other side. The only way across was a rusty bridge, and she stormed over it, blood pounding. _They can't get away..._ gulping in air, she suddenly wished she was a Bladedancer. it would take too long to focus on lightning right now, so she would have to make due.

She looked the building the falcon had landed on up and down, and saw a set of stairs running up the side of it. Half of it had been claimed by a sinkhole. She looked back the way she'd come; no sign of Uldren, not even near the tree line. Maybe he'd been hurt more than they thought? She shook her head. They could check on the prince later; for now, Padfoot was all that mattered.

She pounded up the stairs, and came out onto the chilly, windy roof. The falcon was, indeed here. But so was a woman, a woman who made her blood chill. She was leaning against a skylight window, wore a thick mixture of leather and wire weave, several knives on her person(but nowhere near as many as Sierra had), and two strings of... something hanging from around her neck. Her face was Awoken, and beautiful, her hair dark and tied in a bun with two thin, white shards sticking through it. There was an unsettling grin on her face as Sierra emerged into the open, and she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that there were several good places for snipers out here. The woman looked at her, burnt amber eyes... eye glowing. She was missing the left one, like Petra Venj was.

She sat casually on the ground, one knee sticking up for the falcon to sit on as she stroke it with the back of one finger. now that she had a chance to actually look at it, the beast appeared to be a metal mockery of Uldren's much more life-like crow drones. It's feathers were sharp and knife-like, and it's red optics locked on her, metal gleaming in the cold sun.

"Why, it's so nice to finally meet you, Sierra!" the woman chirped cheerily. she held up a squirming bag, and the Hunter clenched her fists as the woman grinned playfully as Padfoot struggled to get free. "Your Ghost is an awfully feisty one, I must say! A pity he's useless."

 _"Let him go!"_ she demanded. The Awoken looked at her piteously.

"Oh, that's right, so sorry dear; I forgot you can't talk. Must be what this little guy is for- but oh, my, is that a lot of knives you have." _All the better to kill you with._ "You can't really be a guardian, can you?"

Her eye sparked with scathing surprise at Sierra's deep glare, as she dropped a handle into one hand and set the blade alight. "Oh, but you _are_ , aren't you? Dearest Uldren _must_ be getting desperate, if he let you into the field at last. And here I thought I chose the wrong guardian to chase; you set me off somewhat when we found you weren't home."

She lifted her knife to throw, but suddenly found a blade pressed to her own neck on either side. Previously invisible men appeared at her sides, the tips of their blades pricking the skin over her major arteries.

"Turn down the flames, kid." one of them said. Smiling when she didn't back down, the woman held one of her pistols to Padfoot's squirming, unseen body. Sierra lowered her knife, putting out her fire, glaring death at the stranger.

"That's much better, now, isn't it, dear?" she cooed, lowering her gun. "Imagine my disappointment when I found out this Ghost would rather both he and his Guardian die, than connect to the Crow database and get me one, tiny, insignificant little file? _So_ not thrilling."

A loud bang to her right, and the corresponding man died. Sierra whirled, and sunk her knife deep into the gut of the other man, knocking his blade out of his hand, before pulling it out and throwing it at the woman. The one-eyed stranger leaped to her feet, and the falcon rushed towards the hunter, metal talons extended.

She ducked into a roll, and the bird swept past her, grazing her shoulder but, yet again, failing to cut though her weave. It flew off into the sky as Uldren climbed out into the open, glancing down at her, but keeping his gun trained on the stranger. Was that _fear_ in his eyes? What could make the stubborn, arrogant Prince of the Reef afraid? She kept crouched on the ground, gun drawn and pointed at the woman.

"Rogers, get off the roof." Uldren ordered slowly. _I don't take orders from you anymore, remember?_

"Well, isn't this _touching_." the woman sneered, now on her feet. "I _told_ that idiot to use piercing rounds."

"Rogers. _Off_." He repeated, ignoring the woman's words. Sierra kept her eyes trained on Padfoot.

"But I was just having the _sweetest_ little bonding moment with the quiet little thing!" she protested. Uldren strode forwards anger in his gaze, subtly putting himself between them.

"You're not 'bonding' with anyone anymore. I have you right where you belong. Do you even _remember_ what she looked like? The color of her eyes?" his voice was shaking with pure rage. What was he talking about?

"Oh, you have been waiting _such_ a long time for this haven't you?" a dark, gleeful spark ignited in her eye. "It must be so, very, very... thrilling."

There was no time for warning as a knife sored over her and planted itself in Uldren's shoulder. Sierra fired as he fell to the ground with a scream, hitting the woman's hand with a carefully placed bullet. She released her grip on Padfoot as her own scream joined Uldren's, and the Ghost flew out, looked around wildly, then barreled into the face of the man who's thrown the knife.

The problem with a tactical cloak was that Ghosts had inferred vision built into their eyes... which meant that tactical cloaks didn't really work on them. Which meant Padfoot slammed into the man's eye spot on, and when he staggered, cloak flickering, distracted, the Ghost was free to scan the cloaking device, and overload it. He flickered into existence as Padfoot yelped, flying towards Sierra and disappearing as he hid in her armor.

 ** _"Kill it kill it kill it! EVIL DEATH BIRD!"_** he yelled into her comms piece as the falcon came swooping down. At the same time, she saw the stranger recover, and bear down on Uldren as he lay clutching his shoulder. She charged her with a scream. She was going to _pay_! Nobody took her Padfoot! The stranger yelped in surprise and Sierra tackled her, football style, and her previously-invisible ally missed as he tried to shoot the Hunter. She tried to send her enemy to the ground, but let out a scream of surprise as dirty glass shattered, and they went tumbling through the skylight.

She was cut off with a gasp as he hit the ground, breaking away from her opponent, pain singing through her side as she lay there winded. She could feel a new cut on the cheek that the falcon hadn't marred, and she wondered if the wounded Uldren would be enough of a match for both the bird and the fresh combatant. Probably not. She wondered if he would have enough sense to run. The stranger gave a dry, pained laugh.

"Now I know why he keeps you around; you're _thrilling_!" the pulled out a knife, and Sierra rolled as the blade cracked down where her hand had been. "Unfortunately, nobody is allowed to survive me. Do you know how many Guardians I've killed?"

It was only now that she saw the details of her necklaces; dangling from the strings were _teeth_ , Human teeth, maybe some Awoken, and what looked like bits of metal. Feeling slightly sick, she wondered if they were pieces of Exos. They were prizes. Just who the heck was this, and why did Uldren have a personal vendetta with her?

She unsheathed one of her own knives, rolling to her feet, and the one-eyed woman grinned, also on her feet. " _Now_ , it gets fun. Lets see if you can actually use those knives, Sierra."

 _It'll 'get fun' when I cut out your other eye, Hive Witch._ They'd landed in some sort of industrial building, on the second floor. There was a grated catwalk, hung over heavy, rusted, unbalanced industrial equipment. She could hear gunfire overhead, and guessed Uldren was up and about. She lunged, and their blades crashed. Sierra flicked another handle into her opposite hand, and tried to stab her in the stomach like she had the other man, but the stranger grabbed her hand and twisted it.

The knife fell out of her hand, but she refused to scream, and twisted her knife out of the lock with One-eye's. They traded blows again, but were, it felt like, only 'going through the motions'. She pulled out her navja, and flipped her other knife around in a reverse grip. There was a shout of pain from above, and, as they circled each other, studying, One-eye grinned again at the sound.

"A good thing Dor likes to coat his knives in apitoxin; he gets a real kick out of that." _Bee poison? Really? Who coats their knife with bee poison?_ Because just that tiny stinger hurts awful, think about a _knife_ , the little voice in the back of her head reasoned. That would actually be quite agonizing, now that she thought about it, and if you had allergies... Was Uldren allergic? She didn't know, and she had her own battle to fight.

She lunged with her navja, while bringing her other knife around for a slashing movement to block One-eye's blade. The battle turned almost instantly, as Sierra managed to dance into her blind spot, getting in a several quick stabs with the navja. One-eye ducked and whirled, lunging as Sierra slashed with her other knife, and the Huntress dropped both knives, and rolled backwards, striking out with her legs as she did so, feeling the blade slice by her knee, but hitting one-eye in the shoulder as she did so, causing her to drop her own knife as well.

Sierra came back to her feet, both of them glaring at each other, and pulled out two more knives, another navja and one of her longer blades, as One-eye rubbed her shoulder. She was vaguely aware of the pain near her knee, of the blood reddening her wire weave. One-eye pulled out one of her twin pistols, looking tired of the fight, and Sierra ducked out of the way, running around her as the bullets were fired. She sheathed her navja, and flicked a smaller blade into her hand, gritting her teeth as she felt a bullet graze her shoulder.

She threw the knife at the other combatant, and rolled back into her blind spot. Before she could turn and spot the Huntress, Sierra brought her long knife around to slash at her arm. One-eye whirled with a shout, and the knife cut her armor. Sierra didn't see if blood was drawn, because she had to dodge a kick aimed at her stomach.

Yelling interrupted them, as Uldren and "Dor" fell through the broken skylight with the Prince coming out on top, still bleeding and having yanked out the knife. She didn't see any more than that, as One-eye seemed to go feral, charging into her and knocking her knife out of her hand, twisting her wrist. She shouted with pain and surprise as she was sent into the rusty railing, her back stinging. It turned into a scream as the railing gave out, and they were sent falling yet again. She was cut off as she hit the ground with One-eye on top, the breath knocked out of her as pain shot through her back, and her vision went dark for several moments as her skull smacked against the ground.

With the Huntress winded and fighting to keep conscious, she watched through bleary eyes, unable to breath with the other woman's weight on her stomach, as One-eye lifted a knife, and prepared to bring it down on her. Her instincts screamed at her to _get up_ and _fight_ , but her body wouldn't obey. Before the knife could strike down, however, Padfoot materialized with a flash, and she shut her eyes as he flashed his eye light as bright as possible.

One-eye recoiled with a shout of surprise, covering her face, and Sierra kicked her off, before gasping, taking in gulps of air as she shook her head, trying to clear it through the pain of the fall. She staggered to her feet as One-eye regained her footing, swinging and trying to catch the Ghost that was now zooming and diving and slamming her as a distraction, and drew two more knives. _I'm going to end you._ She thought, as Padfoot zipped back towards her, disappearing. _Thanks for the help, little friend._

One-eye sneered, drawing another dagger, but looked up as a strangled cry cut the air. Sierra's gaze shot to the top floor in time to see Uldren shove Dor over the railing with a kick, and she rolled out of the way to avoid getting hit by the body. He landed limply, the Reef Prince's knife sticking out of his throat. One-eye looked... afraid. Seizing her chance, Sierra launched herself at her, slashing and stabbing. One-eye shouted as the Huntress managed to cut her leg as she tried to kick her away, and she continued to rain blows on the Awoken and her single knife mercilessly.

As they backed towards an old crane, One-eye managed to hit her in the shoulder, making her drop one knife, and she jerked back to avoid the enemy's blade, feeling a thin cut open up on her neck.

"Rogers!" She ignored the Prince, kicking out at One-eye, who managed to catch her foot with her free hand, and made to sink her dagger into her knee. Instead of trying to pull back, Sierra jerked forwards, catching the other blade with her remaining own, slashing her opponent's hand and causing her to drop her weapon. In retaliation, One-eye leg go of her leg to grab the offending hand, twisting it, and Sierra screamed as she felt her wrist dislocate.

Then, with her free hand, she lunged, and punched One-eye in the face as hard as she could. The Awoken woman shoved her way, and scrambled on top of the crane, tapping her earpiece as Sierra jumped up after her.

"Transmat me! Transmat me! Get me out!" she sounded afraid. _She'd better be!_ Knives forgotten, she tackled the other woman, and punched her again, holding back her injured hand, while pinning one of One-eye's beneath one knee. Once, twice, three times she punched her Ghost's kidnapper in the face. In fact, she was so busy punching, she didn't notice the woman drop a grenade.

Suddenly, as she cocked her fist back for another blow, the other woman's face bloodied and bruised... One-eye disappeared, and she dropped several inches onto the crane. She held her fist back, confused, until Padfoot flashed in beside her.

"Sierra! Grenade!" She spotted it, and picked it up, throwing it to the other end of the crane while standing and backing up as fast as she could. Now, half of the building was leaning into the sinkhole she had spotted outside. When the grenade went off, the crane started to slip into the sinkhole. And it's collapsed arm, which Sierra was standing on, snapped, so rusted it couldn't hold together.

And when it snapped, the jagged tip of the falling side struck Sierra upside her left jaw, snapping her head back and sending her flying backwards as agony exploded in her head. Everything was blank as she hit the ground, and for several long moments, she just lay there, certain she'd broken her neck, and barely able to breath. Then came the moment when she realized; she couldn't breath because her mouth was filled with blood, and she rolled onto her side with a groan, spitting out red through blurred vision. Her jaw sang with agony, and she felt one or two of her teeth floating around in her mouth. She spat again, trying to get them out, but moving her mouth just made everything hurt more, so, as the initial shock wore off, she tried to breath through her nose.

And it wasn't just her jaw; stinging, horrible pain flared along the left side of her face, and dangerously close to her eye. She lifted her hand and ran it along the area gingerly, still crouched on the floor, and winced when she brought it away to see red streaking her glove. She could feel blood running down her neck, and it's bitter steel, salty taste and scent flooded her mouth and nose.

"Rogers!" She heard boots pounding on the ground, coming in her direction. _Oh, right. Reef Prince. Forgot about him. OW._ She looked up, glaring, reaching for her knife in case it _wasn't_ him. Not that she was particularly relieved when she saw that it was Uldren standing there, shock written all over his features as if he'd witnessed her fight an Ahamkara instead of another woman, and wearing a hastily-wrapped compress over his wounded shoulder. There was a cut on his forehead, letting blood run down his face, the red-purple liquid smeared all over his face from were he'd tried to wipe it out his eyes.

Padfoot flashed into existence as Uldren stood there gawking, and she sat still, breathing heavily as he scanned her, shell twisting with worry.

"Well, your jaw's broken. I know you don't like dentists, Sierra, but I really think there's any getting around a trip this time. You've pulled a few muscles in you neck, so try to keep you head still, but you should be fine aside from all that." he broke the news to her, and she groaned. _They'll stick metal teeth in my mouth!_ Guardians could heal from spinal injuries completely, given enough time, but even the light couldn't re-grow limbs... or teeth, unfortunately. "Nice job rescuing me by the way! but did you really have to crash through the skylight? Your poor ribs are all bruised, it's a good thing you're a Guardian."

"Della Tay." Uldren's voice was hoarse, and Sierra snapped her head around to look at him, an action that send bolts of pain through her neck. _Tell me that wasn't..._ " Do you have... _any_ idea who you just fought, Rogers?"

She could guess now. She could guess as sure as if she'd known it. She swallowed hard, bringing no small amount of blood down her throat, so she didn't know if she felt suddenly sick because of that, or because of the fact she'd just engaged Della freaking Tay in a knife fight. Fear seized her muscles, panic and horror rising at the revelation of what had just happened. She tried to convince herself that it was a good thing she hadn't known she was fighting the most sadistic murderer since Dredgen Yor, that if she'd known, she wouldn't have been able to fight.

Fear would have overridden her. That was the thing, if you were afraid of something, it automatically became harder to fight. She tried to remember the fear in Della Tay's voice when she called for an evac. A flash of predatory satisfaction rang through her; for today, the Guardian killer had messed with the wrong Ghost. Hunter had become the hunted, prey fleeing before a knife. Fear was power, and her ignorance at who she was fighting had not only spared her from that power, but given it to her instead.

Her fear melted away. She crawled to her feet, meeting Uldren's gaze defiantly. In his eyes, there was something new as he looked her up and down. Something that might have been respect. She didn't care.

Her face hurt.

* * *

Cayde-6 wasn't in the Vanguard hall when the report came in from a Ghost that Della Tay had attacked his Guardian and the Prince of the Reef. He was unaware of Uldren and Sierra's ships coming into the Tower, nor of his Hunter's groaning when she was told she would have to be sedated while her broken jaw was surgically corrected.

His own Ghost was 'taking a day' to get his shell polished. And Cayde himself? He owed a particular godson a day out. With Tevis out on patrol, Tirtha at an important meeting for a few days in District 125, and, as far as he knew, no majorly important Vanguard duties to attend to, he'd decided to make good on a long-ago promise of ice cream.

"Cayde, why is air invisible?" The tiny Awoken asked from his perch on his godfather's shoulders.

"Because scientists decided it was so ugly, nobody would want to breath it." he answered with a smile as he made his way through the crowd, the five-year-old weighing nothing to his mechanical body. Andal loved sitting up here; he was taller than all the adults, and he could see _everywhere_! The best part about Uncle Cayde working with the Vanguard was that he could visit whenever he wanted... most of the time.

Sometime the Vanguard were busy, but he was cool with that. Mom worked at the Tower, too, but she was _always_ busy, and Cayde kept apple juice stashed under his desk. Mom didn't have apple juice, and she was on the first floor, where he wasn't allowed to go without an adult. Technically speaking, he wasn't allowed in the Vanguard halls either, but technically speaking, having the Hunter Vanguard as your godfather had it's perks.

Like the fact that you got special discounts at Ramenparesu. He loved their spicy shoyu, and though it wasn't as fun without the whole family, he'd gladly eat it alone with Cayde. He wasn't sure which he was looking forwards to the most; the shoyu, or the ice cream that came afterwards! They arrived at Ramenparesu, and his mouth watered as he picked up the smells coming from the shop.

"Alright, mini Tev, sit tight, I need to talk to Saladin about something." the Exo bent down, and Andal climbed off his shoulders, disappointed that he only caught a glimpse of the Iron Lord as he was let down.

"Can I say hi?" he begged. He loved the Iron Lords; father read him all of their adventures, the one where Lady Efrideet sent Lord Saladin flying at a Fallen Walker when she was a young Guardian being his favorite. The tale of Ashraven and the Kell was pretty good too, and so was Timur and the Talking Teapot(which implied the Warlock had accidently eaten some sort of hallucinogenic mushroom), but the Walker was by far the most epic.

"No this time, Andal. It's Vanguard business." his godfather gave him a dry Exo smile, patting him on the shoulder, and went off into the crowd. Andal sighed heavily and waited, leaning against a nearby food cart. He could see his reflection; the young face, the jet-black hair, the vivid, glowing green eyes of his father that had earned him the affectionate nickname 'mini-Tev' from Cayde. How many times had he been told how much he resembled his Hunter dad?

A tall woman's leg bumped into him, and he let out a squeal of indignation.

"Hey!" he shouted, looking up. He was frightened by the appearance of this Awoken; her dressings were strange, and she had a hood over her head like a Hunter. her face was all beat up, but the most frightening part of it?

She was missing an eye.

* * *

 **Alright... just... don't freak out, okay?**

 **Oh, boy this was a long chapter! Only two reviews? You would think, with Amberstar's entrance in the last chapter…**

 **jsm1978: Della loves to be random; if she wasn't random, than she be a very PREDICTABLE assassin. And nobody wants that, do they?**

 **Order and Chaos: I'm seeing that a lot lately. Well, I'm pretty sure this chapter makes you like her even more!^^**

 **I really hope I got that fight scene down right; as I was writing it, it felt sort of… lame. I always planned on Sierra busting her jaw like that; just because it won't leave a permanent scar, that doesn't mean she won't look like a butt-kicker while the face wound is healing.**

 **And then we have dear little Andal. I know that, many chapters ago, I said we wouldn't be seeing him until Twilight… I lied to me. He's too cute not to use now! Forgive me for placing Tay within even a precious inch of him, but it has to happen.**

 **I'm afraid, undoubtedly, it will be a very long time until my next update; we're entering the final school stretch, and things are getting real. So, leave a nice, juicy review, all of you, and hold on tight to the edge of that cliff!**

 **Get it? Because I'm leaving you off with a cliffhanger?**

 **Bah, I give up!**

 **Next Time: Cayde gets mad, Sierra makes decisions, and Saladin receives unwelcome news.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	19. Message

**Quote of the Day: _"Dear math; grow up and solve your own problems."_**

* * *

"What do you mean?" the Iron Lord asked. He was in for the Iron Banner tournament, and news like this was probably the last thing he wanted during his first day in town.

"They said they wanted to recover some 'assets' that were lost in the avalanche." Cayde told him. "Zavala tried to warn them off, but all we got back was 'the Future War Cult doesn't answer to the Vanguard bleh blah bla rah'."

"There are five Iron Lords buried beneath that land!" Saladin snapped. Not all the bodies of the Wolves had been found; Ashraven, Nirwen, Tormond, Bretomart, and Diedris's bodies had never been recovered, though the fatally wounded Haakon had managed to confirm their deaths. In the end, Colovance, Weyloran, and Finnala were the only ones with public burials. It was assumed that, as he took several days to die, Haakon had been treated to a more private ceremony.

"I know! We told them that, but they said there was no way to contact you! And..." he hesitated. Saladin was a big man. A very big man, though old he may be, and an Iron lord to boot.

"And, what, Cayde?" he pressed, glaring.

"Now, now, keep in mind I have a kid waiting for me over there." he raised his hands innocently. "They said... well, they said that Twilight Gap was-and these are Lakshmi's words, not mine-nearly nine years ago now, and that it's... 'time for Saladin to move on'."

The Titan's eyes lite up with anger, and there was no doubt in the Exo's mind that he would be having very loud words with Lakshmi. Saladin lifted one finger, and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when screaming broke out behind them.

Their heads snapped around as screams of "gun" and "knife" and "child" reached their ears as the crowd scattered for the hills. If Cayde still had blood, it would have run cold. As it was, he no longer had blood, so his instead, his internal systems began to overclock in response to the fact that _he'd left Andal over there_.

"Andal!" he yelled, running towards whatever the danger was, pushing through the fleeing civilians. He couldn't see the boy among them. What if he was hurt? What if he got trampled by the fleeing people? "ANDAL!"

"Put the kid down! Drop your weapon!" The sight was one he'd never wanted to see. An Awoken woman, missing an eye, face looking like it had been smashed to a good pulp recently, had one arm wrapped tight around Andal, a knife pressed against his side. Her other hand was aiming a hand cannon at the man who had demanded she drop her weapon; a civilian, and Cayde had never been so glad as he was now for the open carry policy that had passed after Twilight Gap.

Ace of Spades was in his hands in an instant, and Andal's eyes lit up when he caught sight of him.

"Cayde!" he cried, struggling. The woman pressed her knife harder, and his hands shook when he saw a dot of blood soak through the child's shirt. _You're going to die for that, lady._

"Just stay calm, Andal. You're going to be fine." he reassured him.

"Now, deary, it's not nice to lie to small children." the woman snarled.

"He's not lying! He's my god-dad, and he's gonna beat you up! And EAT YOU!" Andal protested loudly. _Well, kid, I don't know about_ eating _..._

"You're outnumbered. Release the boy, and relinquish your weapons." a voice rasped next to him. Saladin leveled his sidearm at the woman, and Andal's eyes went as wide as saucers at the sight of his hero.

"Oh, Saladin, that wouldn't be thrilling at all, now, would it?" she responded. "I'm just here to give you a message after all. To tell quiet little Sierra Rogers all actions have consequences. I can't let the Hunters go unpunished, now can I? I could hardly call myself the most feared assassin in the system if I did."

Now he truly felt panic grip him. _He's only five!_

"Andal... remember Saturdays? Last Saturday? You need to show me that again." _By the light, please let this work..._ The knife was held in a dangerous place, but this was his godson's only chance. He couldn't risk shooting with him in the way. The boy gave the smallest of nods, understanding in his small gaze. He always was a smart child, natural born with Hunter intuition.

Quick as a flash, Andal flung his elbow back into Della Tay's already damaged face, using his free hand to grab her knife-armed one, pulling it back. She let out a shout, and grip weakened, dropped him, and he ran. Tay lifted her hand.

He refused to lose another Andal. Cayde lunged forwards, tackling the boy, and curling himself around him, as gunshots rang out. Pain lanced through him as he registered a blade flying into his back. The child shivered in his arms as they lay on the ground, and when the bullets stopped flying, Cayde looked up. Tay was nowhere to be seen, and the civilian looked confused.

"She transmatted." Saladin informed them. "She could be anywhere, we need to alert Zavala and lock down the City!"

"On it already." the Titan's Ghost told him, appearing beside him in a flash.

"You okay Andal?" he asked his godson as they sat up slowly. There was a small spot on his side that was bloodied, and the five-year-old examined it.

"She cut me!" he sniffed. "She ruined my shirt!"

"If we get it to the wash in time it might not stain." he reassured him, trying to stop his voice from shaking, taking deep breaths and resisting the urge to hunch over in pain. He may be an Exo, but pain was one of few things in common he still had with Humans. Andal didn't know who that was. He couldn't afford to show his fear and pain in front of the boy. "How about we go do that now?"

"Cayde, your hurt!" he exclaimed, noticing the Exo's wince.

"It's just a scratch!" the Exo grunted, trying and strength failing to get him to his feet. He settled for staying crouched over the child, who tried to clamber over him to try and find the wound. He wrapped one arm tight around him; he didn't need to see that.

"What's wrong? Do you need a doctor?" he pressed franticly, looking up at Saladin as he bent down over the Hunter. " Is he gonna _die_!?"

"No, it's not very deep in there." _Oh, no, it's not_ that _deep. It's just messing with my_ spinal signals _, is all!_ He thought sarcastically, but keeping quiet with Andal present. "I recommend lying still until they can get it out, you'll damage your systems more if you move too much."

At that, Andal let out a frightened squeak. Cayde eased himself down to lay on his side, giving him a thumbs up.

"I'm fine. Might need a few new parts, but I'm fine." That didn't stop Andal from looking scared.

* * *

"Is it true? She was here?" Uldren demanded as they marched into the Vanguard hall.

"Shhh!" Cayde hissed at the Prince. Sierra blinked. The Exo was clinging to a young Awoken child, roughly the age of five, who was sucking down a box of apple juice. He twisted as they entered, glowing green eyes wide and innocent, and allowed herself a small smile as she recognized him. Cayde's godson was always bouncing around the Tower when his parents were at work, and he was dreadfully curios about the Guardians, so he was a common sight.

Her smile turned into a frown when she realized the expression on Cayde's face was one of fright. _What in the world happened?_

"Yeah, she was here. Took a knife to my godson is what she did. You wanna explain what the heck you did to make her grab Andal?" and this was why you feared Tay. If you managed lay so much as a finger on her, she would find a way to punish you. Some way, some how, and since Sierra had nothing, the assassin had gone after the child of a revered hunter, and the godson of the Hunter Vanguard.

Her blood turned to ice. She'd done this. This was _her_ result. _My fault, my fault, my fault..._

"She ghostnapped me!" Padfoot protested defensively. "Sierra _had_ to punch her in the face!"

"Did you do it more than once? Her face looked like an apple I ate one time. It was all purply and lumpy, and I told her Cayde would eat her if she didn't let me go, but now I'm thinking that probably isn't a good idea, cause that apple made me _really_ sick!" Andal interjected innocently. " _Your_ face looks really bad too, though, but not as gross. Does it hurt bad?"

It felt like her face was broken, was what it felt like. her jaw had been set, and she'd been warned away from solid foods for at least the next two weeks. There were metal teeth in her mouth, and the cut stretched from the bottom of her jaw, all the way up to her forehead, close to her eye. Her leg still stung from one cut, and her ribs were hopelessly bruised from all the falls she'd taken, with a few small fractures. She'd only just woke up, and she was still sluggish from the drugs she'd been given. Uldren's arm was in a sling, and he was limping slightly. With the city on lockdown, and the doctors wanting to keep an eye on him after having that much apitoxin in his blood, he would be stuck in the Tower for at least a few days.

"She's okay." Padfoot reassured him. "But really! She had this crazy robot falcon, and it snatched me! She wanted me to hack into the Crow database."

"What!? Why?" Uldren snarled-indeed, snarled.

"I don't _know_! I told her to go space herself!" The Ghost defended. "Then she said she had snipers trained on Sierra, so I told her to drink Thrall spit, and then space herself!"

"Hey!" Cayde snapped. His voice lowered to a whisper as Andal giggled. "Language!"

"Guardian, I don't know how you got yourself into this mess." Zavala spoke up for the first time since they entered. As usual, his eyes narrowed with disapproval at the sight of her. "Going AWOL, knifing a Crow, getting into a brawl with Della Tay, and attracting her attention to a child who doesn't even know what six plus six is!"

"I know what six plus six is! It's twelve! See! I _know_!" Andal protested indignantly as anger boiled beneath Sierra's skin. She struggled not to show it in front of the child.

"Andal! Andal!" A frantic female voice came from behind, and Sierra and Uldren moved out of the way as a dark-haired, red-eyed Awoken woman and an Awoken Hunter charged past. Andal scrambled down from Cayde's arms and ran to them, the woman scooping him up. Was it just her, or did she appear slightly pregnant?

"Mom! Dad!" he cried happily, beaming. "An ugly lady interuppted-ed us, and I punched her in the face with my elbow! remember? From our Saturday classes? I wasn't really too scared, but Cayde got hurt! He got hurt and had to go to the doctors!"

"I know." the Hunter said, one hand on the boy's head of dark hair. His eyes were the same color as Andal's, and she guessed he must be Tevis. He looked at Cayde intensely, eyes scanning the Vanguard up and down worriedly. "What happened?"

The Exo looked at Zavala and Ikora, looking like he might break in two. Ikora sighed.

"Go on, Cayde. We'll set a guard at the apartment for tonight." she told him.

"I doubt that will be necessary." Tevis told her. A shadow of a weapon formed in his hand, pulsing for a mere moment before fading.

"Take no precaution. She has ways; it _is_ necessary, even in her wounded state." Uldren warned. Tevis glared him, a look that said 'don't tell me how to protect my family'.

"We'll go." Andal's mother set her child down, holding one of his small hands. "Come on, Andal."

The two hunters filed out first, but before Tevis' wife and child could follow, Andal halted, left his mother, and tugged Sierra's arm, pulling her down. He planted a tiny kiss on her face cut, and patted her shoulder.

"There; you'll get all better now!" he ran off back to his mother, waving behind himself. "Bye, miss!"

She blinked at the floor, standing up.

"Prince Uldren, we have Vanguard business to discuss with Hunter Rogers." she swallowed, throat tight, as the Prince left, and Zavala's tone darkened. "You left your post."

She didn't look up.

"We have been made aware of the situation, by your Ghost." Ikora said. "I understand if being in quarantine upset you, and though their... methods for getting you there were extreme, your _reaction_ was also extreme."

"They don't know anything about my Guardian! And neither do you! Sierra thought we were being attacked, she did what any Hunter would have done!" Padfoot pointed out.

"Sometimes, I think you forget you're a ghost and not a Hunter yourself." Zavala told him witheringly. "You don't know for certain how a normal Hunter would have reacted in this situation. Your Guardian has, multiple times, proven herself to be volatile, and dangerous to herself and those around her."

" _Normal_ Guardian? Just because she can't talk, that doesn't make her any less of a Guardian than you, or Ikora, or Cayde!" She found herself wishing the Exo hadn't left. Ikora, she didn't know very well, but the Warlock Vanguard had always been fairly neutral when it came to the subject of letting the mute Huntress fight. Zavala? He'd seen so many teams reject her, he'd adopted their mindsets. Cayde, while pushy in the way he did it, at least tried to treat her like an actual Hunter.

Actually, come to think of it, this was all _his_ fault. If he hadn't shoved her to the Reef, none of this would have happened. But _no_ , he had to insist. _Blaming Cayde now won't solve anything._

"As much as you cannot face it, the fact remains that Rogers is _not_ a normal Guardian." Ikora stated firmly. "A Guardian she may be, a skilled one even, but normal? If the doctors had had their way, she wouldn't be fighting at all. There was too much damage."

 _"My head doesn't need shrinking!"_ She signed furiously, after tapping Padfoot's shell to get his attention. He translated as she glared at the Warlock, who stared back at her calmly.

"That's your _opinion_ , Miss Rogers." Ikora said. "My Hidden found the footage from the quarantine room. You were so upset, you abandoned your mission. Maybe your head doesn't need shrinking, but I think you need at least need a break."

"A 'break'? She needs to hang up her cloak." Zavala glowered at her, and Sierra felt her blood freeze. Padfoot went still. _Hang up my cloak!? He wants to_ fire _me!?_

Her horror only increased when Ikora spoke up. "That might have to be an option. As much as it pains me to say it, Rogers, your track record and recent event prove that, if anything, while you may be a good Guardian, this might not be the right life for you."

Her chest felt tight. She couldn't breath. This wasn't happening. She struggled to retain her calm with the Vanguard present.

"We'll put it to a vote tomorrow, and we'll lock your ship down, in case you get any ideas like last time. Like or not, Tay has marked you; don't forget that." Her whole body began to shake as Zavala spoke. "You're dismissed."

"But you c-"

"DISMISSED!" the Awoken barked, cutting Padfoot off. Sierra turned on her heels and strode down the hall at a fast pace, before breaking into a run when she was certain the Vanguard couldn't see her. _Hang up my cloak. Hang up my cloak. They want me to hang up my cloak. They're going to strip me of being a Guardian._

She barely registered it when she arrived at her Tower quarters. She rarely came here, sometimes she spent the night, but most times she came because she needed to make a new knife. She, like many other Hunters who relied on blades, preferred to make their own knives. She alone knew the true weight she was looking for. Who better to make a knife than the person who was going to use it?

She slammed the door when she entered. All was dark, as she'd left it.

"They can't do this!" Padfoot ranted furiously, clicking and whirring in fury. "All we've done is fight a dangerous assassin! And we won! HELLOOO, does that not mean ANYTHING to ANYONE!?"

She shook her head, trying to fight back against the panic attack that was threatening to engulf her. She sank back against the wall, sucking in air, trying to get her breathing under control as her head swam. She was unwanted at the Reef. She was unwanted at the Tower. Ever since being revived, she'd been nothing but 'useless'.

What if she was never allowed outside the City again? What if she truly had no purpose in this world? What if they took Padfoot away from her!? Did they strip Guardians of their Ghosts when they were fired?

"Hey, now, take deep breaths. 5-2-5, remember. 5-2-5." Padfoot comforted, whirring softly next to her ear. Her face hurt, but she pushed through the breathing exorcise. Her ribs screamed at her, but she eventually managed to calm herself, pick herself up, and start forging a new push knife. Her eyes watered the whole time, but she didn't turn down the flames.

* * *

His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. The Exo was listening, trying to stay awake. He couldn't let his vigilance slip, even with the two Titans guarding the door to the Larsen residence. It had been years since he'd slept in this place... Brask, Tevis, and himself had all bunked here during their glory years, but after the Gunslinger's death, and his own rise to the rank of Vanguard, Tevis had become the sole owner, and Tirtha had moved in shortly afterwards.

Now, trying to sleep here, on the couch like he always had in the old days, it felt like ghosts were haunting him, especially after nearly losing his brother's son to Della Tay. Not to mention, he was slightly troubled by the fact one of his Hunters had been called out. Rogers was weird. Mute, weird, and maybe possessing the ability to _literally_ throw daggers at you with her eyeballs. But angering Della Tay? The last time a Guardian had angered Della Tay in such a personal manner...

He'd been thrown in a volcano. And Cayde would be damned before something like that happened to one of his rangers. But watching her hold a knife to Andal... when he thought about it now, it made him want to scream with horror. If Tevis hadn't insisted on signing the boy up for self defense classes, the situation might have come out a whole lot uglier. Terra-27 had repaired his back wound with expert hands, thought they would have to replace some plating in the morning, he'd insisted on staying here tonight rather than the infirmary. He wasn't about to let Tevis and his family go unguarded... well, unguarded by _him_.

At some point, he fell into a restless sleep, and the ghosts and horror manifested itself as nightmares. Contrary to popular belief, Exos _did_ dream. It was psychological; if you couldn't dream, you went insane. You weren't Human anymore... not that he was Human anymore to begin with.

 _First he was in the Drop Zone, watching Brask get blasted in the chest by that damn Fallen assassin, and he was screaming again. He was in this apartment, but Brask's body was still there. Cowering against the wall, covered in his old mentor's blood, was the child named after said mentor. Tevis lay dead as well, face still contorted with all the rage and terror he'd tried to defend his son with. Tirtha was a bloody smear on the wall._

 _Spotting him, Andal's eye lit up with hope the same way they had in the marketplace. Tay and Taniks both were advancing on him._

 _"Cayde!_ _" he begged. "Cayde, help!"_

 _"I'm coming, Andal!" he reached for Ace of Spades, and aimed at Tay, but his gun was gone, leaving nothing but thin air where it used to be. he watched with mounting horror as Tay grabbed Andal the same way she had earlier that day. he tried to run towards them, to wrestle the child from her grip as Taniks aimed at them with his Scorch Cannon, charging the weapon, but Brask's corpse grabbed onto his cloak, preventing the rescue of his namesake with an iron grip._

 _"CAYDE!"_

He reached for his knife as the weight on the couch shifted, and he jerked awake, his eyes shooting open. He relaxed, pulling his hand away from the hidden weapon when he saw it was only Andal, bleary-eyed and hair messed up, pulling himself onto the couch as Cayde's internal systems slowly fell back into normal 'at-rest' operating parameters.

"Cayde, daddy's snoring like an Ak-ma-kara. I thought mom was only joking, but that is _really_ loud." the child complained in a hushed voice, rubbing one eye. After today's fright, Tevis and Tirtha had bundled their child into bed with them. "I can't sleep for Thrall spit."

"Andal!" he gasped, trying to keep his voice down. "Where did you learn that?"

"Daddy's Ghost." he offered innocently. _I'm going to have a word with him about that..._ In Cayde's book, there was a right and a wrong age for learning Hunter swear words. Five was, by all accounts, the wrong age.

"Cayde, were you having a bad dream? Was it about the ugly lady?" Andal asked, running the fabric of the Hunter's cloak through his hands absentmindedly. _If only he knew who this cloak belonged to..._ Tevis and Tirtha had agreed it would be best until Andal was a little older to tell him about the man he'd been named after. Even after all these years, the loss had been brutal, and the cut was still deep. Not as deep as it had been, but it still hurt. Losing a member of your fireteam, your family, always did hurt. That, and they would have to explain the Hunter's Vow to the boy.

"Sort of." he admitted. He tried to shake the image of a dead Tevis out of his head.

"Why were you so scared of her?"

"Because, Andal, she's a very dangerous woman. And if you ever see her again-"

"Daddy says if I ever see her again I should scream really loudly and find Guardians."

"Exactly. That's _exactly_ what you do."

"But what if you see her again? Do you find other Guardians?"

"Of course."

"And they'll protect you?" Andal looked like he was about to cry.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, realizing where this was coming from. Andal threw his smaller arms around the Exo's neck, and he held the small boy close.

"I h-had a bad dream, too, a-and you were _dead_ in it!" he cried. "The lady k-killed you, and when I woke u-up, I thought you might still be dead f-for real!"

"Shh. I'm not dead, Andal. I'm not going to be dead for a very, very, very long time, and the same goes for your parents." he reassured him. "You know, I'm an Exo. When your old as old can be, I'll still be there."

"Really?" he sniffed hopefully, pulling away slightly to look up at him with glowing green eyes. Cayde tried not to think about the part where if he actually lived that long, it would mean he'd have to watch Andal wither and die.

" _Really_!" he confirmed. "Now go and try to get some sleep. I'll still be here in the morning; I promise."

Andal climbed down from the couch, and Cayde listened to the soft patter of his feet as he ran back to his parent's bedroom. He really hoped Tirtha wasn't still having morning sickness... he'd hate to have to see that. Her and Tevis had decided that Andal shouldn't have to grow up a single child, and all early indications said that Brask's namesake would soon have a little sister.

He closed his eyes, but not ten minutes after the boy had left, Andal was back, climbing up and tucking in next to his godfather.

"Daddy really snors a lot. I don't know how mom sleeps at _all_." he whispered. Cayde remained still. Andal tapped him on the cheek. "Cayde? You still awake?"

He had to force himself not to smile, letting out a soft mumble of 'potatoes, please'.

"Whoa. He crashed like a dreg on a Sparrow!" Andal whispered to himself, laying his head down, safe and sound with his favorite(and only) uncle. "I wish _I_ could sleep like that."

* * *

 **Amberstar was both 'awww'ing and hitting me during the beta read for this one.**

 **This is a product of stress writing; I type when I'm anxious, and, as you can see with both Sierra's state of mind and the excessive amount of mini-Tev fluff... it's showing. I'll write some Dysfunctional whenever I get stressed, so maybe there might be more frequent chapters than I thought? I don't know, it depends.**

 **jsm1978: Sorry, but I find myself to be increasingly dishonest the more I lull me into a false sense of security. Why do half my typos wind up being unintentionally hilarious and perfect?**

 **Furious Titan: She didn't transmat to the City; she went to her ship, then went to the city for REVENGE. Don't worry, Silverhawk is still around here... somewhere. The focus is just kind of on Sierra, Uldren, and, in a bit, Martin, for right now. And Jimmy Flint will come in a bit later... well, a lot later, maybe. He's still a jerk.**

 **alienraptor: That, she has, my friend. That, she has.**

 **I was going to post this later next week but... Andal was too cute to keep to myself! If ya'll don't leave enough reviews saying "awwww", you're going to hurt his wee feelings! Don't make papa Tevis come down there, you hear!?**

 **Next Time: Uldren discovers a menacing threat is hiding in the Reef, and needs some help busting Rogers out of the Tower...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	20. Secrets and Lyse

**Quote of the Day:** ** _"Other girls play with soft toys, and you play with knives…"_**

* * *

Uldren still didn't know what to make of what had happened. A part of him was still freaking out that he'd finally done it; he'd dragged an innocent person into his war with Della Tay, his worst nightmare come true, and a _child_ had gotten involved! An _Awoken_ child! True, an earthborn, but Awoken none the less. Rogers nearly killed, and a child almost slaughtered; a brand, spanking new record for the 'critical mission failure' list.

Buuuut... there was also the part of him that kept replaying the moment Rogers had punched Tay in the face multiple times, the part of him that wanted to purr or laugh like a maniac whenever he thought about it. It was weird. _Really_ weird. And, he had, after spending hours swallowing his pride, accepted the wave of respect he suddenly felt for the mute Huntress. _She's a formidable force, she truly is._

He suddenly felt very stupid. He didn't know why, and he didn't like it. _I_ _t's because you've been underestimating her this whole time._ The tiny voice in the back of his head pointed out. _It's because you've wasted such a valuable asset, just because you can't talk to her directly._

 _Shut up, tiny voice._ He could swallow his pride to admit she could fight, but he wasn't ready to restrain his inner mind from spacing that tiny voice yet. There was only so far his pride(for lack of a nicer-sounding term) would allow him to go. Unfortunately, if he wanted to get Rogers back at the Reef(and he knew for certain now-he _needed_ Rogers back at the Reef), he had to try and choke it down if he even wanted a chance at convincing her to return with him. But first, he had to get her out of trouble with the Vanguard-

He stopped dead as he entered the hall. His shoulder still hurt, a _lot_ , as did everything else. The Vanguard all stood in front of Rogers... who was handing over her knives.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. The look on Zavala's face revealed that he was less than welcome, but he didn't really care about that. Ikora's features revealed nothing, her unblinking eyes merely observing him. Cayde, however, looked angry.

"The smurf and magic fingers just fired my best Gunslinger, that's what's going on here!" he blurted, earning sharp glares from both his counterparts. He furiously threw a fistful of knives onto the floor with a clatter. Rogers looked on blankly, face emotionless, but with the same empty look in her eyes that she' had after quarantine. "Don't you two look at me like that!"

Uldren just _stared_. And stared. And stared. And then...

"You're... _idiots_." Roger's Ghost zipped into view next to her shoulder, staring at him as all head snapped around in his direction, Rogers wincing. Her silver-blue eyes were bloodshot, like she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. He could imagine why. Nobody 'slept' after a Della Tay attack.

"Wh- _what_?" Rogers ghost exclaimed, bewildered.

"You. Are. Idiots." he re-asserted, pointing at Zavala and Ikora. "She punched Della Tay in the face!"

The words themselves made the glorious moment replay in his head, bringing again the urge to do an evil laugh.

"She has proven multiple times that she is not fit for the duties or responsibilities of being a Guardian." Commander Zavala said, the earthborn glaring.

"She punched Della Tay in the face multiple times, engaged her in a knife fight, fell through a skylight, rescued her Ghost, and actually survived."

"She has demonstrated the inability to follow orders."

"Said inability resulted in the punching of Della Tay."

"She has failed _six_ fireteams!" Zavala roared, slamming a fist down on the table, making Rogers flinch. "With a total of four deaths on her head and over seventy complaints about her mutism! Sierra Rogers is hereby decommissioned as a Guardian by order of the Vanguard, and _you_ have no say in her fate! ROGERS!"

She gave the smallest of jumps as he shouted her name, her hand reaching for a now-empty sheath.

"Relinquish your sidearm." Uldren could only watch in disbelief as she obeyed, Cayde-6 glared, and Ikora Rey stared, not at Rogers, but at the Prince himself. "You are dismissed of you duties, and your gear will be seized by your respective Vanguard Commander later in the day. Your Ghost will be reassigned on the occasion of your death."

Rogers turned on her heels, and strode out of the room, looking like she might be trying not to cry. Padfoot, in one last act of defiance, turned and blew a raspberry(as well as a Ghost could) at Zavala before floating after his... Guardian? Partner? Caretaker? Owner?

"I believe you're making a mistake." he told them. Zavala shot a glare at him.

"What _you_ believe is irrelevant. Rogers was under _my_ command-"

Cayde cleared his throat noisily.

"- her discharge is none of your business. We'll assign a new Guardian to the Reef for your return. This conversation is _over_." Zavala turned and marched off to his office, and Cayde stalked off with _Rogers_ _knives_ gathered in his arms. Fury boiling under his skin at the waste, he turned to leave, maybe find Rogers(and say... _what_ , exactly?), maybe take his frustration out on his bad shoulder, when a voice stopped him.

"Prince Uldren?" It was Ikora. She motioned to him. "Walk with me for a moment."

"There's nothing to say. Like your earthborn said, this conversation is over." he told her.

"Don't you want to know why we sent a mute to help the Reef instead of a 'real Guardian'?" he bit his tongue. He wanted to know. He'd always wanted to know what in the good world had possessed the Vanguard to send Rogers to him. After the fight with Tay, he'd wondered if it was because of her skill, skill that they had seen but he'd known little about. _You saw her fight during the Rebellion, though._ The little voice chimed in again.

"Alright. Why?" he asked, turning and falling into stride with her slowly towards the back of the room, where massive windows overlooked the wilds he'd been told were called the 'Drop Zone'.

"When the Queen requested a Guardian, Silverhawk and Martin were our first choice. When we told her that, she requested we send someone... quieter." The Warlock Vanguard began. He looked at her witheringly.

"You should take my sister less literally in the future." he told her dryly. Ikora chuckled.

"Yes, perhaps. But sending Sierra Rogers wasn't Zavala, or even Cayde's idea; it was mine." at his confused glance she continued. "Yes, I know; 'what would a Warlock be doing meddling in the affairs of Hunters'. I watch every Guardian that comes through these halls, and she comes through the most often; and it is almost never for a good reason. I've seen rejection after ejection from all of her fireteams. And yet her skill went unmatched by any of her peers, and she never complained; not once."

"Then, there's you, Prince Uldren." His eyes narrowed.

"And what would _I_ have to do with your choice of Guardian." he demanded. they halted in front of the mirror. There was a pattern in the glass; it was thick, and bulletproof.

"Because you hate us." Ikora responded not unkindly, but there was coldness in her voice as she spoke. "Rogers was, as was said, unafraid to disobey orders if she thought it was for the better. Your bias would have, at some point, created a conflict of interest between the good of the mission, and your unwillingness to work with one of us. I trusted her judgment in combat, and I thought some time in a new place might suit her well; perhaps, even that she might discover somewhere she was wanted. A fresh start, so to speak. Unfortunately, it seems that my plan didn't quite work out."

He was about to say something, but a 'crack' caught his attention, and he jumped startled, as a wire rifle shot smacked into the glass near his head. The shot had come from somewhere below, in the wilds.

"Don't fret; that happens about twice a day." she told him casually. "I'll send a Warlock, from the Phoenixsong Order along with you when you return. I think you'll like Aur; he's the best of them."

"No!" he said a little too vehemently. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I've had enough trouble with Lyse, I don't need another Sunsinging pain in my neck!"

"Lies?" she asked, looking confused.

"Yes. Lyse. L-y-s-e. Lyse Ravenwood; arrogant Warlock, dark hair, fire-colored eyes?" he snapped irritated. _Honestly, how could she forget sending me a woman like_ that _?_ "And to be honest, I would _love_ to know your reason for sending _her_ along as well."

"Prince Uldren... we never sent a second Guardian." the worry on her face was genuine, and he felt his blood run cold. "And there are no Warlocks named Lyse Ravenwood that I've ever met."

But that meant... _There's a rat in my Reef! With Mara!_ Sure, security had been tightened tenfold, but _he wasn't there_. And he had seen what Lyse could do... their security could mean as little to her as a leaf in the wind.

"Keep it quiet." he whispered, blood pounding in his ears. "We don't know what channels her Ghost may be watching. If you sound an alarm, it'll likely know."

"I'll send Aur up to you." Ikora whispered, somehow maintaining her calm.

"I'll need a second person." he told her, meeting her gaze steadily. She somehow seemed to read what he was thinking.

"Go." the Warlock nodded. "My Ghost will guide you."

"Thank you." he whirled and ran as her companion flew off down the halls.

"Guardian quarters are this way!" Ikora's Ghost chirped, leading him to an elevator in the west wing of the Tower. He nearly ran headlong into an Awoken Warlock as he came out of said elevator, and his first instinct was to ignore the Guardian, but the Ghost stopped him.

"Aur, this way!" she insisted, and the now-confused Warlock dodged back in trough the doors. The Ghost pulsed slightly, and the elevator began to move as he got a better look at his new companion. He wore russet and gold-colored robes, with an amulet depicting a flaming phoenix, just like the one Lyse wore. The same symbol was projected by his bond. His sandy blonde hair was brushed into a quiff, and his eyes glowed a steely silver.

"What's going on?" he asked, eyes wide.

"A Warlock who doesn't exist and pretends to be part of your order is sitting in _my_ Reef, and she's hostile." he grunted. "We need one more person, she happens to be the mute Hunter you're replacing, who was fired about five minutes ago, and we need to break her out of the Tower in order to leave."

"So, you're making me do something illegal?" Aur raised an eyebrow. "And I haven't been under your order for five seconds?"

"Have any better ideas? I do't know you, and Rogers punched Della Tay in the face. If she can do that, she can fight Lyse Ravenwood." he shot back. The elevator opened with a ding, and he pulled back behind the wall at the sight of the armed Titans guarding a room down the hall. _Rogers' room, no doubt._

He wondered if they were here to guard against Tay, or keep the Huntress in line. Knowing Zavala, it was probably both.

"Great. Now what?" he grumbled, meeting Aur's gaze. There was no way they could get to Rogers through those guards.

"Well, I have to get back to Ikora." the Vanguard's Ghost told them quietly. "But if you're okay with transmat, there is _one_ thing we could try..."

* * *

"I really am sorry about this, Guardian." Cayde sighed. "It's a waste. A downright waste."

 _"Or maybe you were wrong about me._ " she countered, Padfoot translating. _"I'm not going to be something great."_

"Hey!" he protested, raising his hands innocently. "It was Ikora's idea!"

 _Ikora? That's interesting._ Not that it mattered now, she thought, as she watched as a Titan strode past with her Iron Banner collection stuffed haphhazardly in a box. _You sir, are a downright criminal..._

"Now... ahem... really sorry about his but, uh... you're going to have to remove you're armor." The Exo gave a tiny cough. "You can, uh, change in your room. I'll make sure nobody disturbs you."

 _I'm already disturbed._ She sighed, and reluctantly strode into her bedroom. With any luck, she might still have a set of civvies lying around. She closed the door, leaving Cayde to wait outside patiently, and reached under her left arm to undo one of the clasps on her cuirass.

"You might want to keep that armor on, Rogers." she whirled, heart pounding, to see Prince Uldren leaning casually on the wall, an unfamiliar Warlock at his side.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HER ROOM!?" Padfoot roared.

"Shhhh!" both Prince and Guardians hissed.

"Lyse is a rat!" Uldren snarled quietly, and she blinked in surprise. "You were the only Guardian the Tower sent, Ikora says she's never heard of any Warlocks with her name before!"

"We certainly don't have anyone named Lyse in my Order; I know everyone, I'm the head of it!" the Warlock, another Awoken, added.

"That doesn't explain why you're in Sierra's bedroom! This is her space! Our space! Quite frankly, you're the last person who should be in here!" Padfoot argued angrily.

"You're right." Uldren sighed, looking suddenly defeated. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand "I have no right to ask for your help, Rogers. If you decline, I'll accept that reality. But... you've seen what she's capable of, I... I need your help for this. I'm asking you to give me one more chance to lead you."

She blinked, taken aback. She'd never heard him sound this... genuine before. Every moment of Lyse's hostility flashed through her head at once. The Warlock was almost predatory in nature, she lacked any compassion whatsoever, and she seemed to regard both Sierra and Uldren with particular distaste. But... would she stoop to murder? Why heal the Queen, during the rebellion, only to kill the Prince? What were her motives? Why hide in the Reef in the first place? A thought occurred to her, and she tapped Padfoot's shell to get his attention.

 _"Lyse is still recovering from the disease. I don't see how she could be a threat in that state."_ she stated.

"The trip to earth, at this time of year, is almost a day long, and we spent the next night here. That's more than enough time or her to recover enough strength to be dangerous." Uldren argued.

"And if she really is as powerful a Sunsinger as you two are making her out to be, she could very well be able to cause significant damage." the Warlock interjected. "And if you really are skilled enough to make out of a fight with Della Tay alive, decomissioned Guardian or no, we might need you, as much as I hate breaking the rules."

"Oh, so this is about fighting Tay, is it?" Padfoot challenged, glaring at Uldren. "We've finally earned your respect, and all she had to do was survive Della Tay. That instills a lot of confidence, it really does, and it totally outlines your compassionate acceptance of my Guardian."

The Prince just looked at him witheringly in response to the sarcasm and then looked expectantly at Rogers. She bit her lip, considering her options. She wasn't a Guardian anymore. If she ran off with Uldren when she was supposed to be getting disarmed and settled into civilian life, it wouldn't be seen as disorderly conduct; it would be seen as treason, and the punishment for that was usually banishment. She tapped Padfoot.

 _"If I help you, things will end even worse for me. I could be banished for treason."_ She signed, meeting his gaze steadily. As Padfoot finished translating, they all jumped as the door opened suddenly, and Cayde poked his head in.

"Can I just point out Princey Poo never signed a command transfer contract?" he stated ad Sierra reached for a weapon that wasn't there and tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Rage lit in Uldren's gaze as the Vanguard addressed him, and the Warlock looked guilty, and shocked. Uldren rested one hand on his gun, but Cayde kept grinning lazily. "So, technically speaking, Rogers wasn't under Zavala's command when he fired her. Which technically, undermines the dismissal, since our favorite Reef Smurf still had higher authority over her."

He backed his head out, shutting the door, only to open it again. "You know. Just say'n."

The door shut again.

"Okay, how did he hear us?" The Warlock asked.

"Her Ghost did yell at us." Uldren pointed out. He looked intently at Sierra. "Rogers would this technicality make it difficult for them to press charges against you?"

 _Probably not._ But... no one said she _had_ to come back to the City after helping to take care of Lyse. She could skip all the public bravado and shenanigans, and go into self-exile without ever being put at the mercy of the Consensus. No fuss, no mess, just her, Padfoot, and the wilds. Just...freedom. A thrill ran up her spine. This was actually the perfect opportunity! _Zavala doesn't want me? Fine. I'll go._

 _"Alright, I'll do it. But how are we going to get out of here? My ship is locked down, and all my weapons have been taken from me."_ She told him through Padfoot, the Ghost giving her a momentary look of shock before translating. Uldren opened his mouth to speak, when the door opened yet again, this time slamming into the wall violently, Cayde swaying dramatically in the entrance. He whacked himself in the back of the head, and clutched his chest over where his heart would have been if he had been Human.

"Oh, no!" he moaned dramatically, doing a little spinning stagger. "I've been _violently_ incapacitated! Oh, the treason! That _darn_ mute, she got me! Arg!"

He did a little dance in her direction, and swung her Ironwreath-D from the grip between two fingers in front of her. "Oh, oh no! She's disarmed me! The nerve! The agony! OHHHH NOOOOOO!"

He fell to the floor with a dramatic twirl, going limp. One eye opened to peek up at her before closing. "This is the part where you all run off giggling madly." he whispered.

Everyone in the room exchanged looks. Uldren shrugged, while the Warlock looked on like he'd just witnessed an elephant do the funky chicken.

"Sometimes I wonder how you got this job." Padfoot sighed to Cayde, who let out a reprimanding hiss.

"Hey! I'm _incapacitated_ , remember! I ain't saying nothing to no-one!"

"Aur, link your Ghost up with my ship. It'll be a tight squeeze, but it will look suspicious if mine isn't the only ship to leave. We're trasmatting out of here." he told her after addressing the Warlock. Sierra looked back down at Cayde. The Exo had never really been one for the rules... but this? This could get him in too deep with Zavala's bad side. She clenched her fists, holstering her Ironwreath. It was no hand cannon, but it would do for now.

She nodded, silently thanking the Hunter Vanguard. _Here's to hoping this doesn't get you into too much trouble._ Cayde didn't move until the sound of a trasnmat flickered through the air, and he opened one eye by a crack before sitting up, letting out a weary sigh.

"Here's to hoping you find your place, Rogers." he muttered out loud.

* * *

He was finally allowed out of quarantine. Now that he was out, he was excited; he could finally do it! He could find a cure for the deathtouch, actually reach the goal he'd made for himself all those years ago. In his head he kept imagining all the ways Silverhawk might react when he told her she'd be able to touch again, that he was going to give her normality again. He kept imagining hugging her for the first time ever, and how amazing that moment would be.

He strode into the room where his belonging had been kept during his stay, and he opened his locker. _Belt, notebook, Dad's knife... where is it?_ The data chip with the Certech information was gone. Panic hammering in his chest, he looked through the contents again.

"Looking for something?" He whirled around to face who he hadn't noticed before. It was Petra... and she was holding the device, eye cold.

"Petra?" he was confused; how had she found out about this? Did she know what she held in her hand? Why did she look so _angry_? _At least she's not sick anymore._ She still looked lightly pale, and her voice was raspy, but that would fade with time.

"Variks overheard you blackmailing the Prince." his blood ran cold. So, he had been right when he'd thought he'd seen someone else at the docks..."What, by Saturn's rings, were you doing? A _bomb_ , are you serious?"

He blinked rapidly, jaw opening and closing soundlessly, his mouth unable to keep up with his thoughts. Just _how much_ had Variks heard? Did they know about Heather? Should he tell them?

"I-it was a-a bluff." was what he sputtered instead. His eyes fixed on the device she held in one hand. Her other hand rested on the handle of her blade, and the look in her eye made his every instinct scream at him to run. But he couldn't. She had what he needed... and it was _Petra_ , for goodness sake, why was _she_ making him afraid?

Really? Was it?" the question was rhetorical, and she strode closer, until they were almost nose-to-nose, and he wanted to run even more. "We looked at what was on here. What are you playing with, Martin?"

"I-I-I'm n-not _playing_ w-with anything! I-I-I-it's for-personal r-rea-sons. And it-it's none of your business!" he reached out to try and take the data from her. This was Petra. There was anger in her gaze, but... she wouldn't hurt him. Not the Petra he knew.

But perhaps he hadn't known her well enough.

In one quick movement, she knocked his hand out of the way, gripped his bad arm, and spun him around, twisting it behind his back and slamming him against the lockers. He shouted in pain as the tender limb was handled so roughly, sending bolts of agony through the healing joints.

"Who are you doing this for? Why? What do you know about the little girl that kills by touching?" she demanded furiously, tightening her grip on his wrist.

"Stop! Stop, please stop!" he begged, trying to break away, only for more pain to sear through him. His eyes burned. He couldn't tell. He couldn't. He couldn't believe she was doing _this_.

"Are you trying to find her? Are you trying to make her stronger? Is she some sort of weapon the City has hidden from us?" the Awoken continued to demand. Every bit of the pain, and every once of despair he'd ever felt because of Silverhawk's condition flooded through him like someone had broken a dam. With a sure of Light, he flung Petra backwards into the opposite lockers.

"I WAS TRYING, TO _CURE_ HER!" he screamed. He could feel the tears streaming hot down his face as he looked at her, shock written all over her features, the data chip having skittered along the floor, dropped between them. "I've spent the last eight years of my life with someone I can't even touch! Do you have any idea what it's like? To have a sister you can even _hug_ because it would kill you!? She's forgotten what grass feels like! She can't eat fruit, she has to have essential nutrients injected into her arm to even _look_ like she has a proper diet! I have never, never even been able to comfort her when she has a nightmare about what those monsters did to her, AND _YOU_ , HAVE NO RIGHT TO KEEP ME FROM ENDING IT!"

"I was sick and you threatened to blow the cure up!" she yelled back, shaking.

"I WAS BLUFFING!" he screamed in her face. How had he gotten so close so fast? "If you ever thought I would hurt you, you're thicker than I thought! _Stay out of my way_!"

"GET OUT OF MY REEF!" through a blur of grief and anger, he snatched up the data, his things, and ran out, not looking back. Every moment he'd had feelings for her swept through his mind mockingly, sent confusion raking through him, making him wonder what exactly just happened. _What just happened is one of the reasons Certech's damage has to end. One of the reasons she must always stay a secret._

"Wheatly, get me out of here." pain throbbed in his arm, hot tears still ran from his eyes, a few people stared at him, but he didn't care. Sure, transmatting while injured was generally considered a bad idea, but he needed the safety of his ship. he needed Peppermint. He needed that familiarity, right now, before he had a total breakdown in full view of the public.

Martin Anton disappear in a flash of particles.

Petra stood in shock in the room he'd left, still processing all that had been said, still trying to figure out if she'd... really just... hurt him in her desperation for answers. Had she twisted his bad arm? Was that just a memory she _thought_ she had, like deja vu? Had he really just implied... Silverhawk... _Silverhawk_... his adopted sister... _adopted_ sister... adopted from... she felt like she was going to be sick. He was _living_ with that _thing_?! This whole time...

Variks burst into the room, looking around wildly, making her jump. His eye lit with rage when he saw her.

"You... youuu..." he didn't seem to be able to string his English together properly at this point? Why was he so mad... he couldn't have been eavesdropping, he'd only just got here.

"Variks, what are you doing here?" she demanded, trying to keep from shaking with the shock of the past few minutes.

"I saw! I _saw_!" he snarled drawing in close to her. Her hand reached for her knife instinctively as the Fallen towered over her, chittering angrily. "You are an.. an idiot! You harmed him! You...you... I should _never_ have come to you!"

"Like you would have done better!" she snapped. "You're a _Fallen_! I did what my oath to the Reef demanded me to do; I rooted out the secrets."

"Secrets... not worth _this_..." he seemed to deflate entirely, backing away from her. "I, know my friend. Should have sensed his bluff. Should have known... and asked myself. Not steal data. Not slink in shadows, like Fallen do."

"We did what was necessary. He blackmailed the Prince." she tried to defend the actions. It felt so... lame. Variks slunk out of the room, and cast one more glare at her.

"Betraying Martin's trust was not necessary. If he is wise, he will never trust me again. I have lost a friend." He looked away. "Do not speak to me, Petra Venj. Not unless it concerns Skolas."

With that, the Vandal left her in the silence. She stared across the room, at the lockers she'd pinned Martin against. She looked up at the light. She could see the bug, the wire that Variks had so cleverly placed. So that was how he'd known. She looked at the lockers again.

She sank back against the wall with a sob.

* * *

"So, how are we doing this?" Aur asked as they approached the Reef. The ride had been cramped and uncomfortable for the two Guardians, crammed into the back of the _Nighthawk_ , a ship that was really only supposed to carry up to two people.

"I sent a message to the head doctor, Faroth; he's going to put her under a heavy sedative, and restrain her. Hopefully, that can buy us some time." Uldren told him.

"If Faroth has things handled, why bring us? An unconscious Guardian is hardly a threat." Padfoot pointed out.

"Because I watched Lyse melt through a pile of metal during the Rebellion. That's why." he answered. "Even if we keep her out of it, I don't want to take any chances."

"What should we do about her Ghost?" Roger's companion asked.

"Contain it. I want you and Aur's Ghost to keep Foxtrot _out_ of the Reef's systems. Last thing I need is for that thing to give her a path out of here." He said. "Rogers, you'll stick with me and be ready for a fight. Aur, I want you on standby in case things go south. Can you heal?"

"Yes. I'm no Ashraven or Skorri, but yes, I can heal." The Warlock confirmed.

"No fighting, then. If Lyse gets loose, in any situation, I need you to get people out, and make sure they're safe." He was putting his people's lives in the hands of a stranger, but what other choice did he have?

They were approaching the docks. He confirmed the landing. He checked his weapon, turned off the safety. One of the Guardians tapped him on the shoulder. He looked at Rogers, and she signed something.

"What am I supposed to do without my knives?" Padfoot translated. Uldren bit his lip. Rogers tool of the trade, of course. The last he'd seen of her numerous weapons was in the Vanguard hall. He became keenly aware of his father's knife on his belt, as if were begging to be used. With a sigh, he unsheathed it, but pulled it away as she reached out to take it.

"Don't lose my knife, Rogers." he warned, before passing it off. He opened the cockpit of his ship, and they all clambered out onto the docks. He looked around. In Reef time, they'd arrived in the hours when everyone was sleeping. There was no proper day or night here, but all was still in quiet as if the moon were up in the sky of a planet. There were only a few guards to be seen.

"Alright. Let's get to it."

* * *

Faroth tried to maintain a smile as he closed the message that had appeared in his terminal. He kept smiling as he asked told the nurses that it was okay to go home for the night; he could wrap up and give the last patients their doses. He tried to smile as he waved them off.

He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he loaded a syringe with sedatives. He wiped sweat off his forehead as he entered Lyse's room. She was silent, eyes closed, her Ghost, strange and staring, floating silently over her. It watched him as he made his way over to the IV. Suddenly, as he was about to inject, the Ghost pulsed, shell bristling, and the readings on the monitors changed. He choked back a terrified sob.

Lyse wasn't sleeping. She was wide awake.

Eyes like fire shot open, and flames consumed his world.

* * *

 _Dammit!_ Uldren ran forwards when he saw the flames pouring from the med bay, guards and frantic nurses running around it. He stopped one of the nurses as she ran past, gripping her by the arm.

"Where's Lyse? Did you see her?" he demanded. Coughing, she nodded frantically.

"She attacked Doctor H'rryn, stole back her armor! I think I saw her, running towards the secondary docks!" she told them.

"Rogers, get after her, I'll handle this and join you." _And if she runs into Lyse and can't handle her?_ He shook his head of the thought. She was already running off towards the secondary docks. He reminded himself that she was the woman who punched Della Tay; she could more than likely handle a fellow Guardian.

"Someone help! Get help!" _Venj?_ "And get this damn fire out!"

He shoved through the crowd, in time to see her dragging a limp body away from the roaring flames, coughing, with several burns on her armor. As he came closer he realized the injured individual was none other than Faroth, his body covered in burns and blood. _She must have attacked him and left him to burn in there._ he grabbed the doctor by the legs and helped her carry him further from the flames.

"Lay him down flat, keep his head steady." Aur ordered them. The worst of it had to be on his left side, his arm nearly completely charred, and the side of his face in likewise condition.

"He's barely breathing." Petra said as the Warlock ran one, softly glowing hand down Faroth's injured arm. It didn't look like much was happening.

"Why isn't it working? I've seen wounds heal instantly by Warlock fire." He asked.

"This was caused by another Guardian, another Guardian who intended to kill, therefore, her Light intended to kill as well." Aur explained, a look of deep concentration on his face. " A wound like this resists healing by Radiance almost as much as a Dark wound does. I'll do what I can. Was he the only one in there?"

"Yes, I think so. I didn't see anyone else." Petra shook her head.

"What about the other Warlock? Lyse?" Uldren pressed.

"Not a sign of her, but I know she did this. Who else could it have been?"

"No one." Uldren agreed. He looked at Aur. "Heal the injured as best you can and follow meet me and rogers at the secondary docks."

"Got it." the Warlock nodded, and Uldren got to his feet, running in the direction that Rogers had gone, hoping he wouldn't be too late to assist. If Lyse injured her, Aur would have trouble fixing it, and he'd failed Rogers enough in the past week. He wasn't going to fail again.

"Uldren!" He halted as Padfoot nearly rammed headlong into him. "Foxtrot is hacking the Crow database, I tried to stop him but... it's like... like he's not even a Ghost at all or something! I need a direct access point so I can try to kick him out!"

"Dammit!" he swore. The last thing he wanted to do was give Padfoot, a foreigner, access to the database, but whatever Lyse's Ghost was after, he couldn't let it have it, either. He undid the clasp around his wrist, and activated his interface, setting it in a discrete corner. "Do what you can from there. Where's Rogers?"

"She got to Lyse's ship ahead of her; she's trying to sabotage it. If you hurry, you can catch up, maybe even flank Lyse." the Ghost told him. It then looked down at the interface, scanning it, shell pulsing. Uldren stood and ran again, the halls empty of anyone aside form him. _They're all responding to the fire._ _Why is no-one else going after the one who started it?_

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a new explosion from the secondary docks. Was it too much to hope that blowing up the ship was Rogers' version of sabotage? He rushed towards the noise like his life depended on it, and came onto the docks to see Lyse Ravenwood's ship alight in a way that couldn't have been just any normal explosion.

"ROGERS!" he yelled, trying to make out anything in the flames. The entrance wasn't on fire yet, perhaps she would come out...

A scream from inside proved this hope a false one.

"Rogers!" throwing his cloak off and covering his mouth with his arm, he ran inside against all better judgement. He could barely make anything out through the smoke, coughing, and a desperate sound near the cockpit was what lead him to finding her trying to pat out a flame that had caught on her leg, which was pinned down by a fallen beam.

He strode forwards, eyes watering, ready to remove the metal, but her eye's widened, and she pointed behind him, mouth opening soundlessly. He turned just in time to see silver flash the flame's reflection, and he barely managed to dodge Lyse's katana as she tried to bring it down on him. He reached for his knife, only to remember he'd given it to Rogers, who had now renewed her struggle to free herself. _I have to keep her distracted from Rogers; she can barely defend herself in that position!_

"Traitor!" he spat at the Warlock, who herself had become a living flame. He had to dodge another blow from her sword, and he brought out his gun, only for her to knock it out of his hand. Eyes wide, he brought up his arm to protect himself as she brought her sword down again. He grit his teeth as it bit into the flesh of his forearm, and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck burning as she pushed him towards the flames.

"It's not treachery if there was no loyalty in the first place." she glowered at him. He could feel the flames radiating from her licking at his body, hungry to kill. Bracing himself for the pain, he jerked her blade off his arm, and tried to kick her in the stomach. She jumped back, and rushed in to punch him in the face, flames searing his cheek. Thrown back against the wall, he found a loose bare lining it, and jerked it off with ease. He whirled around, ready to bludgeon Lyse in the head with it, when agony sliced through him.

He thought he heard Rogers scream. He wanted to scream, too, but his breath was stolen away by the sight of the hilt pushed up against his stomach, by the suddenly strange, mesmerizing, flames before him, and... was that regret, in Ravenwood's eyes? No. No, it was hatred, his own hatred towards her reflected back at him by her fire-like eyes, which now were _actually_ on fire. The bar fell from his hands. He felt cold.

"Pick a side, Sov. Because the middle, looks like _this_." the Warlock snarled. He tried to gather his words, to spite her, but he still couldn't, between the smoke and the fact her katana was sticking out through his back. Just a big mess he'd gotten himself into. The final failure of Uldren Sov, was 'running into a burning jumpship like an idiot because of what? SENTIMENT! Isn't that's hilarious, he got himself killed because of sentiment! He couldn't just let that outsider die, could he?'. _Shut up, tiny voice. I don't care what you have to say._

Then everything when too fast. Suddenly, Rogers was there, behind Lyse, anger in the silver-blue, like refreshing ice in the middle of the flames. His father's knife reflected the flames in the same way as the katana, now slick with blood, had, and she plunged it straight towards the side of Lyse's neck. He expected to see blood burst before him...

And blood did burst. The knife became blood, spattering molten metal against Lyse's face and Roger's hand, new pain searing through him as some of it hit the burn on his face. Roger's cried out as her hand burned by Lyse's flames, and the Warlock gasped in pain as the hilt slammed into her neck. Something gave a mechanical crack and the gasps pitched. She yanked her blade out of his stomach, and he staggered back against the wall as she threw Rogers aside, still grabbing at her neck with a look of pain and shock on her face. Her face...

Which had suddenly changed.

The Lyse he was used to looking at suddenly dissipated, flickering away as darkness edged his vision and he sank slowly to the floor. Replacing the sneering, leering, spiteful traitor he'd come to know, was a much younger-looking woman, strangely more... innocent-looking woman. Except for the scar. A terrible, horrible Dark burn of some kind, like cooled lava stretched across one side of her face, circling her eye, stretching down her neck.

She turned and glared at Uldren, shock fading to anger, and then glared at Rogers, who was also staring at the Warlock's true face. She rushed forwards, and the Hunter tried to defend herself as Uldren fell to the floor, black engulfing him. He tried to move as agonized screams filled the air, _Rogers'_ screams, but though everything burned around him, he was ice cold, and the taste of blood and ash filled his mouth, and his body refused to move.

 _Final failure, indeed..._ if this was death, then it truly was more bitter than he'd thought it would be. Tay would probably take the opportunity... strike Mara while she was still reeling... he hoped they doubled the guards... he hoped Rogers somehow survived this... the ice in the flames, maybe the only relieving moment he'd had since the blade cut him... would those eyes close because he brought her here...

Warmth flooded through him as the flames continued to roar in his ears, more violently than ever before. The same warmth he'd felt when standing Lyse's flames, before she'd turned on them. He took a deep breath, gulping in smoke, causing him to cough violently. At the same time, the pain faded away, his senses sharpened, and became aware of a hand on his back, over the exit wound. _Aur._ He realized. Had he _completely_ forgotten the Warlock had been following them?

 _Rogers!_ His eyes shot open, and he tried to struggle to his feet, but Aur held him down.

"Hold still!" he barked."Let me finish!"

"Rogers, get Rogers!" he ordered, coughing, looking around wildly for her. _That screaming... that_ screaming _..._ He spotted her laying a few feet away, ominously still with a hole burnt into her back over her left shoulder blade.

"I can't heal her in here, and I can't get her out on my own! We need to get out of here, Uldren!" the Warlock yelled over the din of the fire. With his newfound strength, Uldren scrambled to his feet, still feeling blood slick and sticky on his armor. Staggering over to Rogers, he shook her slightly, before checking for a pulse. Her heartbeat was thready, and he couldn't tell if she was breathing or not, his vision was so blurred by the smoke.

Aur got up on her other side, lifting her up, and they dragged her out of the burning ship between the two of them. For the first time in a long time, her silence unnerved him. During the Rebellion, the woman who killed without making single sound had disconcerted him greatly, leading to him snapping at her... which had led to the discovery that she was silent because she couldn't speak. In her silence, there was always some sound of life... but now there was none. He'd asked her to come here, and now he may have just ensured her a never-ending quiet of the worst kind.

As the ship blew up violently at last, and he brought her to the ground, covering her body with his own as Aur shouted something he didn't quit catch, he almost felt like breaking down over the fact that _no matter what he did he had the inability to keep this one, singular woman from crawling to death's doorstep._ He held her steady, making sure her head was tipped to the side so she could breath, as Aur place one glowing hand over the horrific burns that Lyse had scorched into her back. Silently, he begged her not to pay for his mistake.

Someone must have answered his prayers, because she took a rattling gasp for life, lungs struggling to work after exposure to the smoke. Aur moved his hand from the wound to the middle of her back, and he supposed the Warlock was doing something about her lungs, because her breaths eased and steadied, but were still caught with pain.

"Rogers?" he queried hopefully. He felt like melting into a big, shaky puddle just by the fact she was _breathing_ , maybe there was hope yet that he hadn't messed up this time. Her eyes opened by just a sliver, but Aur brought his hand to the side of her face, the side that had been damaged in her encounter with Tay, and her eyes closed again. The gash, with all it's stitches, disappeared. "What are you doing?"

"Putting her to sleep, she shouldn't have to feel this. I won't be able to heal it all the way, but I can give her a chance." Aur explained bringing his hand back to the burn. It was so deep, Uldren could see charred bone, and there was never a worse feeling in his life than the moment he realized, if he couldn't keep this one solder out of mortal peril without a Sunsinger standing by to heal fatal injuries...

Should he be leader of the Crows at all? What right did he have to protect the Reef when he couldn't give an order that kept Rogers from getting killed, traumatized, or into a fight with the deadliest assassin in the system? What right did he have to protect his sister?

Or was everything he'd ever done... every life saved, every bullet bitten... just dumb luck all along?

* * *

She strode into the stolen vehicle, and saw her Ghost waiting. The charred bones of the Guard who's tried to stop her clattered to the floor outside, and her Ghost finished the hack that erased them from the camera footage as she sat down in the cockpit of only one of many blockade runners that the Awoken used for heavy assaults. It hadn't been used since the Reef Wars, but it could still fly.

"Uldren's blood is on your blade. Did you kill him?" Foxtrot asked.

"Only a little." she replied. She paused as she caught sight of her reflection. _So the device_ did _break..._ She'd thought it had only malfunctioned...Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at her true face for the first time in years. She was roughly thirty, give or take a few, she had stopped caring, stopped keeping count a few years ago, but the face looking back at her was so much... younger-looking. The face she'd hidden away after _it_ happened.

Almost against her will, her hand reached up, fingers brushing the Dark burn that he had branded her with. The monster she was fighting. The one that caused the deaths she'd witnessed. The one a man she thought friend had greeted with open arms after the murders.

She brought her hand away from the old wound, fiery eyes steeling.

"I don't think I'll be able to fix the device. You should find a way to get it out of you before it's pieces leak into your bloodstream." Her Ghost told her emotionlessly. She grit her teeth.

"I'll burn it out." She brought up her hand again, but this time it was on fire. She gripped her neck, and screamed as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air, as she burned and healed at the same time. It was necessary. Her pain meant nothing.

Only... and only... her mission.

* * *

 ***cringes* Please don't kill me! I'm sorry! It had to happen! ...the pun in the name of this chapter mikes me cringe slightly, but I'm going to ignore that.**

 **Fun fact; more elfish Awoken names! 'Aur' actually means 'sunlight' in Sindarin! We'll be seeing him some more in the future, and he plays an important role in Twilight's aftermath. Whenever I have a character I just can't think of a name for, I just look in the Hisweloke dictionary for the most accurate thing I can find. Revia's name actually means 'to wander', and we'll see her in and out of a few chapters, and Alag, the Awoken who kicked Sierra when she was down, his name actually means 'impetuous', so... hehe.**

 **Furious Titan: Zavala might not, but Cayde certainly does, and Ikora... well, she's just sitting there being Ikora. I know, right? He's so cute! And Tay will _not_ get bumped of a cliff by Padfoot...SPOILERS i'mactuallysavingthatterriblefateforSkolas. I can try, but I will always fail to kill off Rogers.**

 **alienraptor: Yeah, poor Rogers... *looks away from chapter***

 **This Is Sarcasm: Caffeine much, Sarcasm? And I doubt Zavala is listening. Like Uldren... it'll take a while, and a lot, for him to warm up to Rogers.**

 **Guest(#1): Oh, Tay and SR will have another showdown eventually... but it's gonna be way more dramatic. Like, the teaser trailer for FF15 Episode Promto dramatic, the trailer that makes me wonder where the heck all the chocobo-loving innocence int he world went... sorry, sorry...*tears up* HE'S CRYING SO WE KNOW IT'S BAD!**

 **Guest(#2): Andal is a sweet little bundle of innocence with a _very_ bold mouth. He's not afraid to yell what he's thinking to a deadly lady holding him at knife point.**

 **And I am REALLY... not sorry for what I did in this chapter. It's well over 7,000 words long! I haven't written a chapter that long for this series since Fever! And this, is a landmark I've been gunning for for a while; that scene, when Lyse burns Rogers and nearly kills Uldren. It's going to trigger some stuff; mostly, Uldren's guilt. I'm going to spend every moment of Uldren form here on out trying to beat this guy into humility with it. It's abut time I got into this...**

 **About Martin; they were going to find out about Silverhawk sooner or later, this is just they way it happened, and I needed to get him out of there before Lyse attacked. So yes, he is okay... as far as 'okay' can be when the gal you liked just twisted your arm into making you tell all about your sister with a wierd medical condition that makes it so she kills everything, oh, and your Fallen buddy helped reveal all that, very nice, very nice indeed. Petra and Variks aren't going to be on real good terms from here on out, I can tell you that much.**

 **Just so you all know; we found out last chapter that Tirtha is pregnant again, and this time it's a girl! And you guys get to name her! I have a poll up on my profile, I will take suggestions by PM, the best will be place up there, but only up to when we've got eight choices. I don't want too many choices, it will divide the vote too much. My personal favorite is "Galadbin", which actually means "little light" in Sindarin Elfish!**

 **Go head and Vote up, she's joining the world at some point in Twilight! The poll will close when 15 Seconds finally reaches it's end.**

 **Anyway, big chapter for a big, fat, even number! 20, Boo-yah! No go ahead and drop some reviews!**

 **Next Time: Martin comes to terms, Uldren is questioning himself, and Silverhawk gets... ASKED OUT!?**

 **Cheers!^^**


	21. Enlighten, Confirm, Recreate

**Quote of the Day:** _ **"To the trail's end.**_ _"_

* * *

Uldren had cleaned himself up since the attack. He no longer looked like he'd taken a gut injury, but he still felt incredibly sore, and the exhausted Aur had warned him the area would be tender for the next few days. His arm still hurt tremedoudly, from both the knife he'd taken during the Tay fight, and the defensive wound from the fight with Lyse. He didn't complain. He had no right to.

He looked across the room, the makeshift med bay, at the curtained-off bed near the end of the hall. Behind that curtain was Rogers, fully conscious and in a world of agony, because all Human-friendly sedatives and painkillers had been destroyed by the fire. Aur had exhausted his Light reserves trying to ease her pain, to the point where he'd collapsed, and was now asleep on another bed. A vast difference from Lyse's refusal to heal her during the Rebellions. But even with his help, the fact remained that the burn was still deep, very deep, and part of it had stretched up to her neck. He'd caught a glimpse of her earlier; they'd had to cut her hair short so that it wouldn't scratch at the wound as much.

Faroth was also there, but in much less trouble than Rogers, seeing as the wait for more Awoken medicine involved a much shorter trip. He'd heard talk that he would need an exo-skeletal implant to save his arm, and that the burns on his face would scar him forever. Petra sat at the side of his bed, fast asleep with her head next to her friend's. Twelve other Awoken, weren't so lucky to be alive. Twelve dead, from Lyse's rampage, most of the casualties from _after_ their encounter in her ship.

The encounter that had gone so terribly wrong. He'd thought the closest he would ever come to death would be the knife that left the scar on his throat, but as Lyse left him to bleed... that had been something new entirely. The fact he'd dragged Rogers into this made it all the worst. He felt more wretched than ever before, and now more than ever he wished he still had his father to guide him.

 _As if he would know what to do; he never failed this badly, not in all his years._ He scoffed out loud. There was no point in wishing, nor in wallowing in self-pity like he was. But he couldn't help it. Every time when it came down to Rogers, he made the wrong choice, said the wrong thing, or gave the wrong order.

If he'd been sure to order, during the quarantine, that Rogers should be warned of the exposure before being escorted, would she have ever went AWOL afterwords? Or would she have suffered at the hands of Tay when the assassin raided her apartment? Would that child ever have been threatened? If he had realized sooner he was underestimating her, that his attempts to keep her and Lyse separate were doing more harm than good, how differently would things have played out?

If he hadn't ordered her after Lyse because she'd punched Della Tay and he thought she could handle it, if he had waited, and they had both gone ahead, together... would she be half-dead and in pain in a makeshift hospital right now?

Answers to questions that he would never know. It was too late to go back, there was no way to turn back the clock. As he sat, bitter, in the room, eyes locked on the curtains, he knew the only way to stop making the wrong decisions, was to prevent those decisions from being necessary in the first place. He wouldn't ask for another chance to lead her this time. The City wanted to confine her, and he himself couldn't be trusted with her safety. _What does that say about my efforts to protect Mara?_ He kept wondering.

The only right choice-and he hoped it _was_ , the right choice, this time-was to give her what she seemed to want the most. The wild. When the City asked for their Hunter back, he'd take her to Earth himself, but there was no way he was giving her back to those bureaucrats. After all he'd done to her, all the wrong choices he made, he was going to give her a chance. A chance to walk away, run away free.

He'd take her to Earth, alright. But not the City, not if that wasn't what she wanted. After all the disasters she'd lived through under his charge, this was the least and only thing he could do for her, diplomatic fallout be damned.

* * *

Martin woke to the sound of Wheatly alerting him they were approaching Earth. He opened his eyes, crusted with dried tears, and looked down at Peppermint, curled up in the crook of his bad arm. He stroked her back gently, wishing he could just go back to sleep and forget the nightmare-turned-reality he'd been through yesterday.

 _They found out. Variks and Petra found out. They stole the data and found out._ He didn't know _why_ Variks would do something like that, or _why_ he would even _for a moment_ think that he'd placed an actual bomb. That was what hurt the most. That either of them would ever think he'd actually do that, that Petra would ever think he'd put her life at risk for any kind of data.

He would _never_ do that, even if he did have the guts for it. He couldn't even bring himself to make a fake detonator!

Part of him was tempted to call Variks and ask _why_. To hammer out the problem, pick up the puzzle pieces and fix the picture that had been shattered. To take the problem head-on like a man and sort things out.

Martin always had been a coward.

Taking a steadying breath, he sat up, setting Peppermint aside, the cat letting out a plaintive meow. He got up and went over to the bathroom, washing his face off as thoroughly as he could. He didn't want to talk about what he'd lost at the Reef in order to get this data. He never wanted to even mention it. And when he finally did it, cured Silverhawk, and she asked what it had cost him to do it, he would smile and say 'nothing at all'.

He would make an act, weave an illusion, so that all anyone would ever know was that he an Variks were simply growing apart with time, and that he was _completely over_ Petra Venj. He had to let them think that, and he had to hope that the Scribe and the Emissary kept what they knew about Silverhawk to themselves.

As he erased all signs of anguish from his face, he realized that his arm still hurt tremendously from when Petra had twisted it. Someone might notice, he would have to think of a cover story for that. Meanwhile, he had to put on his 'cheerful Martin face' in a way that looked convincing.

* * *

He had been expecting Silverhawk to be waiting for him. What he had _not_ expected was for her to come screaming in his direction like madwoman with Ryan Newton on her tail.

"MARTIIIN!" she screeched. Why did she look frightened? He jumped as she skid to a halt in front of him, arms opening as if to give him a hug, before remembering better. Another flash of bitterness passed through him.

"What is it? What's going on? Did someone die or something?" he asked frantically, fear twisting inside him as Ryan came panting to a halt next to Silverhawk.

"No, but they almost did!" the Titan said, breathless, as Silverhawk circled Martin, poking him and lifting his arms as if checking for injury.

"What happened?" he demanded.

" _Della Tay_ tried to kill Andal!" Silverhawk blurted. Martin let out a frightened squeaking noise. _Andal! Tevis' Andal? Five-year-old Andal who loves dinosaurs?!_ "Apparently a fellow Hunter smashed her face to a pulp and she wanted revenge! If Cayde and lord Saladin hadn't been there... well, let's not think about what would've happened if Cayde and Lord Saladin hadn't been there."

"And then, yesterday... dude, for a few moments, we thought that was _you_." Ryan continued. Martin looked at him, confused.

"Me, _what_?" he asked.

"The crazy Warlock who blew up the Reef!" Silverhawk said. _Petra!_ Was still his first, panicked thought for some reason. "But it turned out it was some lady named 'Lice' , or whatever."

"W-was anybody killed?" he tried not to shake, but there was no hiding the fear in his voice.

"I think there were a few Awoken who didn't make it, but they haven't named any names. I think they would've if anyone important got killed, though. Word is a Guardian got injured, which, you know, freaked out a little bit because," she waved her hands in Martin's direction, "but fear totally unfounded. Pretty good, pretty good, I say."

 _Deep breaths, Martin, deep breaths..._ he tried to calm himself down. If the Emissary was killed, they would have heard about it. _The last thing I did was yell in her face..._ even if it was a pretty good reason to yell in somebody's face...

"L-lets, uh, talk about it somewhere else, I, uh, I-I need to think a bit. And uh, sleep for real. Not a lot of sleep in quarantine." he managed to stammer. Some real food wouldn't hurt either, but he doubted his twisting stomach could hold anything down at this point.

* * *

"So then, Alan takes his rifle by the barrel, and clobbers the Fallen with it." Ryan gestured wildly as he finished his story. "And that's how you kill a Captain with a sniper rifle without pulling the trigger."

Silverhawk golf clapped, and Martin gave a snort, jerking awake from where he'd fallen asleep with his face on the table. Her Warlock friend was acting a bit... slower than normal since returning from the Reef, and he was obviously worried after they'd filled him in on the details of recent events he'd missed out on while in quarantine.

She'd been frantic ever since the news came from the Reef, that disaster had struck. She kept seeing dead Martin's in her head, and she'd been pacing expectantly in the main hangar for the whole day. What she hadn't expected... was for Ryan to join her.

"I know Martin's at the Reef." he'd said, shrugging. "I thought you might like some company."

That had been... _nice_ of him. Weirdly nice, and it had given her a fuzzy feeling in her stomach, which was weird, because stomachs were _not_ fuzzy, and if they were, it was something the fuzzy-stomached person might want to have looked at, because it was probably a hideous infection of some sort.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to hit the hay." Martin yawned. "Mom home?"

"Nah, went on a week-long patrol to Venus." Silverhawk waved a hand. The Warlock got up, stretching as much as his sling would allow him, walked off to the residential area of the Tower, leaving her and Ryan alone yet again. She thrummed her fingers on the table, staring at her empty plate, and he examined the surrounding in fine detail.

"So..." he heaved.

"So..." she repeated.

"... Kind of like an awkward first date, huh?" he commented, eyes glinting.

"Ha!" she chuckled. "Like I'd ever date anyone! It'd be _so_ awkward, hedgehogs would fly!"

"Oh, really?" he challenged. "Well, I once farted during a first date, and that was _so_ awkward, we never saw each other again."

"Pfft, I could do better." she scoffed.

"Oh, _really_?"

"Really."

"I dare you to date me."

"What?"

"I. Dare _you_. To date. _Me_."

"...You're kidding, right?"

"Scared?"

"Your on. Terms?"

"Whoever gets us kicked out of the restaurant, wins. The looser has to pick up the tab on the second date."

"And who say's there's going to be a second date?" she asked cheekily.

"Me. Because this, is going to be _blazing_." he told her, waggling his eyebrows. She bit her lip. _This is really dangerous, Silverhawk. You shouldn't get close to people, especially dating..._ But it wasn't like this was serious dating. They were just flirting.

...Weren't they?

"You're on. When and where?" she demanded.

"The fancy Chinese place just west of the Tower, eight-thirty sharp tomorrow night." he said, leaning back and taking a drink. "No formal clothing required; one of us is probably going to start a food fight anyway."

"Alright. See you tomorrow, _boyfriend_." she teased, getting up and turning to leave. He made a disbelieving noise, the sound of his chair shifting as he put his legs on the floor again.

"Hey! You're just going to leave me with the tab!?" he cried in exasperation. She looked back at him playfully, she could feel her eyes glinting beneath her shades.

"Look at the bright side; you can get me back if you win tomorrow." she winked, though he couldn't see it, and disappeared behind the corner. Ryan sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, shocked at himself.

"Did I just do that?" he asked out loud. His Ghost flashing into existence beside him.

"Yes, yes you did. What ever happened to 'keeping our distance from her'?" he chided witheringly.

"It's not _my_ fault she's cute." he muttered forlornly, taking another drink.

Meanwhile, Silverhawk took a deep breath, trying not to panic as she shut the door to her home behind her. She leaned against it, wondering _what_ in the good world had possessed her to say 'yes' to a _date_ of all things!? What if he tried to kiss her? _Ugh, this is all my worst nightmares piled into one..._ What was she supposed to do now?

 _Alright, first off... cool it._ She took several deep breaths. _Second off... panic all over again._ She ran into her room, threw herself on her bed, and screamed into her pillow as loudly as she possibly could. _Third off... just keep acting like it's flirting and avoid all physical contact tomorrow! Simple!_

At least, that's what she hoped...

* * *

 **"More details tonight about the attack on the Reef. Twelve confirmed dead, and twenty hospitalized for smoke inhalation and severe burns. It has been confirmed that a Human Hunter was critically injured in the attack by what seems to be a rouge Warlock, and sources report that though her wounds are severe, she's currently stable."**

 **"Sources also say Prince Uldren was involved with the attack, as well as Head of Phoenixsong Order, Aur Barou. It has not been confirmed that either of them suffered major injuries, and all footage of the rogue Warlock has been deleted, reportedly by her Ghost. Residents of both reef and City alike are warned to keep an eye out for the escaped 'Lyse Ravenwood', an Awoken Warlock with a Phoenixsong amulet, roughly five feet, eleven inches in height..."**

Shiro looked away from the report as they continued to roll out a description of the woman. He swirled his drink in one hand. How many terrible things were going to happen the rest of the week?

"World's have gone the Hellmouth these days, haven't they Saladin?" he commented wryly, glancing up at his friend. He frowned, letting out a small snort as the Titan ignored him, helmet-covered face still tipped towards the TV. "Makes you wonder if there's any sanity left, for anyone."

The Titan stood abruptly, nearly nocking his chair over, causing several people in the bar to shout at him. Shiro looked up at him in surprise. "Drink not sitting well?"

"No. It's not." he ran for the bathroom, certainly appearing sick, and Shiro shrugged, taking another sip of his own drink, before noticing the Saladin had barely touched his, even before putting on the helmet.

The last Iron Lord lammed the door open to the bathroom, and yanked his helmet off, vomiting into a sink as he tossed the armor piece across the floor. Never before had he felt more sick in his life, as he wretched again, the words of the reporter ringing in his ears.

 _Lyse Ravenwood._

Panting, he looked up into the mirror, looking for answers in his own eyes.

 _Lyse Ravenwood._

How could it be possible? After all these years?

 _Lyse Ravenwood..._

His greatest failure. Both as an Iron Lord, and a friend.

And she was back.

* * *

 **Wee, more mystery.**

 **That moment when you're crossing the road... and the perfectly-disguised mound of dog C*** that somebody just left there breaks your perfect record of never having stepped in poop before in you entire life. Worse; I'm wearing my Merrells and I can't wash it out from between the cracks. Seriously! Who lets their dog take a dump in the middle of the road!? Sure, it could have been a wild animal, but this is _definitely_ dog poop!**

 **You know, this is why Humans are doomed as a species. Not because of global warming or nuclear war or any of that conspiracy theory stuff; it's because of people who don't have the courtesy to watch where they leave their C***.**

 **alienraptor: Tay has never used the Light, nor will she ever. Don't know where you got that idea. But if you really meant Lyse, then yes and no; yes she is kind of an ex-Guardian, no, she is nothing like Matteo's Messenger. The Messenger was all Dark; Lyse Ravenwood is here walking a very fine line between Dark and Light.  
**

 **jsm1978: I never really bother with the alerts thing, I don't really check my email that often anyway. Don't worry; this is the last horrible thing I'm going to do to Rogers; she might give us some more scares in the future, but she won't be horrifically injured. Most of what's happened to her so far is to drum up Uldren's guilt, and this new lack of confidence he's experiencing. Almost all three of the original Dysfunctional Fireteam have undergone some kind of character change at this point, even when gradual: in _Heartbusters_ , we saw Martin's core self come to light, a very self-sacrificing young man who would do anything for his sister, and we've seen more of that here. After _Wolfsbane_ , and Martin's injury, Silverhawk is a bit more paranoid, protective, and may just be taking things a little more seriously than she used to. Now, it's Uldren's turn to evolve as a character, and Sierra Rogers is my main tool for doing that. As for drama... like you wouldn't BELIEVE!**

 **Order and Chaos: Yeah, certainly, future encounters with Lyse will be very tense, indeed, after this. Yeah, sacrifices had to be made, but hopefully Martin can do this. Yes, Zavala's going to give him a proper chewing out. I'm not going to confirm or deny your suspicions, I'll just let Saladin do the talking.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Don't worry, I'll sew the Reef Trio back together... eventually, but not in this installment. Not in Twilight either, though. Aww, it's good to see at least one person expressing pity for Faroth. He does have it rough. Hey, I was actually thinking 'Princess Bride' when I wrote that!**

 **Fan of Variks: More has been written. ^^**

 **Guest: Yes, the Reef Trio are quiet popular.**

 **Furious Titan: Yes, I've noticed several people complaining that Alerts haven't been working lately. The River was actually the guy who sanctioned the Deathtouch operations in the first place, if you remember from Fever. We won't be really seeing him again, and I don't even have a proper name for him. As for Lice, the buildup to her true unmasking is gaining way, and as for Martin's quest... well, he's a smart boy, he'll figure it out. As what I said to jsm, every 'torture' I've put her through is to seed this doubt in Uldren. The other two Originals have undergone a few changes, but since Fever, he's really been the same guy; an arrogant, overprotective jerk. LoL, I can't even remember what point I made that reference at...**

 **As for last chapter, it had to happen. It's going to be a while before we skip on back to the Reef, it's time to spend some time in the City with the other Originals. I'm going to be introducing a new character soon, both to fix Martin's lack of another friend after last chapter, and to fix the fact that Ryan is the only Titan I have in here so far. He's going to be a very down-to-earth swell sort of guy, and though he's not going to play too major a role, I hope people like him. Little bit of a hint; he's from the nineteen sixties era, and I'm having a little too much fun researching terminology of the age.**

 **And while we're at it, I'd like to finally clarify something; I know I keep mentioning courtyards on different floors of the Tower, and I't never occurred to me to mention that, for this fic, my interpretation of the Tower has always been the Concept Artwork by Jesse Van Dijk. It's not as blocky and, quite frankly, it looks better, and more in line with a place that people would live in, as, Like Ghost says, this isn't just a command center; this is where our Guardians live, for the most part. It's home, and Dijk's art just seems to capture that more than the version that made it into the game.**

 **Plus, it make more sense to have WAY more ship hangars than just the one.**

 **Next Time: Silverhawk and Ryan bring down the house, and it turns out more was going on in chapter 4 than we realized...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	22. Things of the Past, 'Round They Go

**Quote of the Day:** ** _"_** _ **Whoever said that nothing's impossible obviously hasn't tried slamming a revolving door."**_

* * *

Silverhawk strode out the front entrance to the Tower, nerves pricking under her skin. As a precaution, she'd never really been down in the City before, not unless it was for a Sparrow Race. The Traveler looked so much bigger from the ground, and the Tower, indeed, towered above her.

She looked around the late-night crowd, coming home from work or making some boring commute to their exhausting night shift jobs, which they probably complained about but did anyway. A waving hand caught her attention, and she put on a weak smile as she spotted Ryan, in his Titan civvies with his messy quiff, which he ran a hand through as she approached. _Keep cool, Silverhawk. Keep cool, and no contact._ _Keep cool, keep collected..._

 **5 Minutes Later...**

"IT'S TIME FOR THE RAVAGERS TO RISE ONCE AGAIN INTO GLORY, UNDER A NEW CAPTAIN... _TASERFACE!"_ Silverhawk declared, one fist in the air, the other on her hip, standing on her chair with one boot planted on the table. Ryan sat in his chair with his hands behind the back like he was tied up, and he laughed raucously as she finished.

"What are _you_ laughing at!?" she demanded as several people in the restaurant glared at her.

"I am so sorry. I just keep imagining you waking up in the morning, start looking in the mirror and all seriously say to yourself. 'You know what would be a really kick-ass name? Taserface!'" He burst out laughing again.

"Excuse me, ma'am, sir, I'm going to have to ask you stop screaming like pirates and getting mud on our tables!" An angry waiter demanded. Silverhawk jumped down back into her seat, brushing the rim of her fedora with one finger. The waiter glared at them and continued on. Ryan leaned in.

"Shall we play a game of wits?" he whispered.

"To the death?" she asked?

"To the death." he agreed.

"Challenge accepted." She grinned. She held up the water jug that had been left for them, and poured, pretending to slip poison into both glasses. "Now which one has the Iocane?

"But it's so simple, my dear. All I have to do is divine from what I know of you. Are you the sort of woman who would put the poison into her own goblet, or her enemy's?" Ryan stated with a grin. "Now, a clever woman would put the poison into her own goblet, because she would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I'm not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the water in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool; you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the water in front of me."

"So you've made your decision then?" Silverhawk asked.

"Not remotely. Because you are a beautiful woman, you may have counted on appearing trustworthy, therefore I clearly cannot choose the water in front of me." He said with a flirtatious air, causing her to roll her eyes. "But iocane comes from Australia, which is full of criminals, and criminals are not used to having people trust them, as you are not trusted by me, which means I clearly cannot choose the water in front of you."

"Truly, your intellect is dizzying." she commented wryly.

"Just wait until I get started!" Ryan insisted, leaning forwards. "You must of known the powder's origins, so I clearly cannot pick the water in front of me!"

"You're just stalling now." she scoffed.

"Oh, you'd like to think that wouldn't you?" he stared at her, eyes shining. "You've killed the Garden's Heart, which mean you must be exceptionally strong. You could have put the poison into your own glass in hopes that your strength would save you. So, I clearly cannot choose the water in front of you! Then again, you also found the cure for the disease, which means you must be smart, and in being smart you must know that man is mortal and therefore would have put the poison as far away from you as possible, so I clearly cannot choose the water in front of me!"

"You're trying to trick me into giving something away! It won't work!" she huffed, crossing her arms.

"Already have! You've given away everything I need to-look, something shiny!" he gasped pointing behind her.

"Where!?" she cried, turning around, searching. While she was looking, he switched the glasses.

"Oh, never mind. I swore I saw something." he said innocently as she turned back, scowling at him. "Now... let's drink. Me from my glass... and you from yours."

They both drank, and Ryan smirked.

"What's so funny?" Silverhawk huffed, hands on her hips. "You guessed wrong."

'You only _think_ I guessed wrong!" he chuckled. "That's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned. You Thrall-brain!"

He continued to roar with laughter, and she simply stared.

"You fell victim to one of the classic blunders." he wiped a tear of mirth from one eye. " The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia.' But only slightly less well known is this: 'Never go in against a Sunbreaker, when death is on the line!'"

He laughed raucously, until falling over off of his chair, much to the alarm of several people. Silverhawk leaned over the table.

"I've spent the last several years building up a resistance to iocane powder." she quipped mundanely. One stander by tapped him on the shoulder.

"Are you alright sir?" he asked. Ryan snapped open one eye.

"Look into my eyes!" He demanded in a husky voice. "I want your _blood_ , mortal..."

The stranger scrambled back with a mortified expression on his face.

"Sir! Madam!" one red-faced waiter puffed. "We do not approve of faking a medical emergency in this establishment! I must warn you against any further infractions, or you will be removed from the premises! Regardless of your military designation!"

Silverhawk and Ryan, ignoring the glaring customers who went grumbling back to their seats, locked gazes. _So, it comes down to the final act._

"Last chance to give up, beautiful." he smarmed playfully as he got up back into his seat.

"Little do you know, grasshopper, I have a secret weapon." she leaned in closer across the table. "I'm not hungry. I had a bean-bomb lasagna with extra cheese before I came here... and it's finally catching up with me."

"No. You wouldn't." he went pale, for real. "Are you crazy! In public!?"

"Sometimes, you gotta pay the price for a bet. Even if that price is your adulthood... not that I weighed much value in adulthood to begin with." she grinned. "Besides; we're the Guardians of the Freaking Galaxy; if I wanna act like a five-year-old, then heck, I'm going to act like a five-year-old."

"Silverhawk, don't!" he hissed. he got up, but the Huntress was faster, shoving herself to her feet.

"Attention, everyone; I have an important announcement to make..." the waiter hid his face behind the platter he carried in mournful anticipation. Silverhawk looked at Ryan square in the eyes... as a loud, flat note cut through the air. And then... "Will you marry me?"

Needless to say, they were not gentle when they shoved both Guardians out the door and into the darkened street. "And stay out! Little heathen Hunters! Like Brask incident of '81 all over again..."

"Hey! I'm a Titan!" Ryan protested as the Chinese man slammed the door. They sat in silence for several moments, before Silverhawk punched him in the shoulder.

"I WIN! SUCKER!" she threw her fists up into the air victoriously, and the Titan pouted. She slugged him in the arm again, with both fists this time. "You're going to buy me the best stinking peanut butter burger of my entire life!"

"Peanut butter burger? Is that even a thing?" he chuckled.

"I have no idea, but I want it." she said, brushing the rim of her fedora with one finger.

"Okay, then. One peanut butter burger coming up next, I guess." the Titan shrugged. he looked around the street, dark and illuminated by the Traveler's distant light all the same.

"So... what now? Now that the date lasted approximately ten minutes?" Silverhawk asked. _Now you go home like a good girl, and stop taking risks._ The obedient tiny voice in her head suggested while tapping it's foot impatiently.

"Well... there is one place we could go and cause some trouble." Ryan suggested, grinning with his steely eyes glinting like dark silver stars. _Shut up tiny voice._

"Okay then. Lead on. But I. Still. Win. I _rock_." she rubbed her knuckle against her armor as she spoke, Ryan leading her further into the City. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, I bow down and surrender my Light to my all-powerful fiance." he raised his hands innocently. "I'm _never_ going to let that go, by the way."

" _How_ on Earth did I know?" she sighed mournfully as they came into a darkened courtyard. A wide circle of grass was in the center, a playground complete with a climbing structure, swings, several slides growing out of it. To one side was a seesaw, along with one of those spinning circles with the bars sticking up out of them. She'd seen them in pictures, but never played on one, and couldn't remember the name of it.

"Okay, so, nobody's here, right... soooo... freedom." Ryan schemed wickedly, rubbing his hands together and grinning at her. She couldn't help but grin back. Ryan turned to the playground, charged at the swing set, and launched himself on his belly onto one swing.

"Nobody can stop me now! Drink Thrall spit, recess duties!" he whopped as he did so. Silverhawk laughed. All children of the Tower remembered the ridiculous rules of the playground they'd been forced to follow when on the swings, and rules of course, were meant to be broken.

"Heck, yeah, Newton!" she cried, running after him. Instead of getting on her swing on her belly like he was, she jumped up and stood on it, crouching to kick the ground and gain momentum, and standing to full height once it started swinging to the desired height. Keeping it swinging afterwards looked awkward and resulted in some very inappropriate body motions, but all was done in the name of breaking the old rules.

"You tell 'em, Heather Chancellor!" Ryan cheered as he spun in his seat, still on his belly. After twisting the swing to the desired tension, he spread his arms and legs out, letting himself spin as a speed that made even her dizzy just by looking at him. but she laughed, and he laughed, and it was one of the best times of her life that was happening right now. How could _that_ be wrong in any way?

 _Because you could kill him by accident, and it would all be over. How would you feel then?_ This 'best time' would turn into the most bitter memory of all. _I thought I told you to shut up back there?_

But the doubt, the tension, the fear, were all already building back up again. She had to _stop_ this, and she had to stop this _right now_ , and she had to get _back_ to the Tower and Martin, and she had to _stop_ hanging around with Ryan Newton.

"You know, we should probably get out of here before someone calls in a couple of stalkers at the playground." she suggested breathlessly, the smile still on her face, the laughter still in her chest, but the terror still very present in her mind right now. Ryan looked up at her, panting on the ground, still getting over his dizzyness, and that made it even harder.

"Oh, come on! here, you're turn to nearly puke! Get on the merry go-round." he told her, waving one hand in the direction of the seesaw and the other thing.

"The what now?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"The merry go-round." he pointed at the round thing with the bars. He got up and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down from the swing. Her heart pounded in her chest as he pulled her towards it. "Come on, I'll show you! Just get up on the platform, and grab on to the bars."

"And then what?" She asked, doing as told, and he grinned back up at her.

"I'll show you." he said. he shut his eyes, breathing deeply for several long moments, the very image of a Guardian changing their Light's elemental focus. When he opened his eyes, they seemed to spark with lightning for the briefest of moments. "Now hold on!"

His hands sparking with the light of a Striker, he grabbed one bar and heaved, pulling it violently, and at once the merry go-round spun at a speed it never had before. Silverhawk screamed with both terror and elation as the Titan set her spinning on a merry go-round for the first time in her life.

"BLAZING!" she screamed, feeling like she might be sick, but definitely wishing she could make the tiny voice go away, because this was way better than leaving Ryan alone and it would suck Thrall spit to pass up his companionshi-

Her hands slipped, and she was sent flying off with a shout of surprise, rolling along the ground as the laughter stopped. Horror seared through her like never before. She'd rolled on the ground. She'd _rolled_ , on the _ground_ , the _grass-covered_ _ground_. And to make mattered worse, when she sat up, her shades were missing. Not that it would be any surprise to Ryan; anyone who'd lived in the Tower when she was a kid would know she was a hybrid, counting him, as she hadn't started wearing the shades to hide her eyes until shortly before Brask's death.

Her face had made contact with plant matter, and even in the dark she could make out the dead pattern on the ground, and before she could even make a move for her shades, lying in the dirt a few feet away, durable enough that they hadn't broken, Ryan picked them up. He examined them for a few moments, as if looking for damage, and her heart pounded in her throat as he approached her. He offered a hand. She took it. He pulled her up, quiet, face unreadable.

Then, as delicately as if he were giving a butterfly back it's wings, he, with his bare hands, before she could do anything, carefully slipped her glasses back onto her face, unaware that if his fingers so much as brushed her cheek he would die. She wanted to scream and shove him away, but was too terrified that any sudden movements would rip the life right out of him. She was so terrified she was gulping for air, and it was unmistakable that he saw how horrified she was. Was it too much to hope she could pull off something along the lines of 'I'm afraid of people seeing I'm a hybrid?' It wouldn't be too hard to set up that explanation.

"I... have to go." she managed to choke out as he brought his hands away. She had to get away from here. Was that hurt in his eyes? She didn't care. She _couldn't_ care. She could _never_ care, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Why?" he put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. Could he feel her shaking? "What's wrong? We were having fun, right?"

"I-I'm sorry." weird. Stammering and sputtering was usually martin's forte." You don't understand-I-I just, can't. Okay, I can't, and we-you know just, forget the peanut butter burger okay, w-we shouldn't, I... I ... I can't do this anymore. Goodbye, Ryan."

She backed out of his grip and strode back the way they had come as fast as her legs could take her. What she didn't see was Ryan look down at the blackened pattern in the grass and back at her, confliction and desperation warring inside of him. His Ghost flashed in beside him.

"Don't do it, Ryan. This could be for the best." he cautioned quietly. The Titan flexed his fists, still hanging in midair where he'd gripped her shoulders.

"To heck it is!" he shouted out loud quite suddenly. He stormed after Silverhawk, jaw set, and shouted at her. "I don't care!"

She didn't stop. Had she actually broken his heart? Maybe that was for the best. He wouldn't pursue her. But what he said next blew that theory, and everything else, out the window.

"I know you kill by touching!" she stopped, a black hole yawning inside of her, mind wiped blank by utter horror. She barely managed to turn around to see him, staring her down defiantly from several feet away. His silver eye were locked in on her, and she could feel her mind burning with an eternal scream of terror. Her whole body shook.

"How." she barely managed to rasp.

"Six years ago. Your Warlock brother was putting flowers in your hair, Jimmy Flint walked in and saw, too. I was playing hooky in the bushes. From strength training class." he told her. This was her worst nightmare come to full realization. "I avoided you ever since, I was terrified, but I didn't know who to go to, especially after what those Hunters said to Flint. Then that day with the outdoor lesson came, with the Mistbirds, and I wanted to know if you were a threat. And you... you weren't what I was expecting."

His gaze softened, but the defiance was still there. "You were nice. You were funny, freaking _hilarious_ , and you were the least violent person I had ever met. And I..." he seemed to swallow hard. "I'd never met a girl who could kill with one touch, and be more full of life than any other woman I'd ever met at the same time."

She didn't know if she should scream or cry. If she should run away or collapse right there and never leave. She wasn't sure if she should be afraid, or elated. Ryan stepped closer slightly, ever more sure of himself.

"I'm not afraid of you, Heather Chancellor. And of all the women I've known... you're the surest my heart has ever been about."

She wasn't sure if she ran, or blacked out, but all she knew was that her mind went blank, and darkness cascaded over her and her trembling body at last.

* * *

 **Okay, yeah, Silverhawk fainting is mainly because by that point in writing the chapter, I was in a fan girl coma from the live stream reveal. An on that note, I just gotten say...**

 ***long, annoying screeching sound*OH MY GOSH IT'S SO FANTASTIC GIVE IT TO ME NOW! Okay, I'm in love with what that Arcstrider was doing, and I cannot WAIT to get my hands on this Arcblade on steroids. The Titan has obviously been taking lessons from Captain America, and that Warlock is taking a bit too much after Lysenko Ravenwood for me to trust her, though I'm seeing a little inspiration from the exotic swords and the Battle Axe in the basic power usage.**

 **They also seem to be using a more tame, "drained" version of some of the supers. If you pause or pay attention at the right times in the stream, you'll see a sort of cracked, lightless Ward of Dawn that seems to be able to take limited damage before breaking, and the Titan didn't drop any orbs when he popped it. We also see a Warlock spamming Grenades Sunsinger style, but not on fire and also giving off the same 'lightless' drained energy, and it seems to be doing an area effect in one clip, like giving stat boosts or something.**

 **If I'm right, we've got these drained versions of our old powers, which makes you wonder what else you'd be able to do, with say, the Dusk Bow. Will we Hunters get to keep the honorable Tevis' bow in some form or another? One thing I would like to be able to do is sharpen the back of the bow and be able to use it in close combat to some extent, and it would fit in nicely with the fact we now have a spear. That, and it might upset Cayde we lost the last little bit of his friend.**

 **Speaking of, who's going to sit there while he's floating just to laugh at his expense for a little while?**

 **Furious Titan: Not necessarily an Iron Lord, but she does have a past. The Radagast generation was killed by SIVA when Martin was wearing diapers, and Lyse is only 30 something, though she has been around a while. Well, it isn't shawarma, but it does have marvel references, and much Princess Bride.**

 **Alien raptor: Beleive it or not, that was one of Lyse's potential roles.**

 **Geust(1): And unlike Zuko, Uldren's sister isn't psychotic. Huh, I never noticed those similarities before. I also guess you could say, Uldren's going to face choices and changes that shift his character on some pretty major levels.**

 **Fan of Variks: oh, goody, a very enthusiastic new fan!**

 **Geust(2):Well, Varks is kind of a Martenj shipper, we've seen that, so he would totally golf clap if they kissed, maybe do a victory dance. I can also see him setting them up.**

 **Order and Caos: Yeah, I think they fixed alerts, though. If they haven't, I guess I'll notice int the lack of reader influx after being the first author to update after the live stream. SIVA will play a minor roll, and it does filter into the plot a little, but no, we aren't going to be seeing it any. To clarify; Part 1 through chapter 12 take place before a Fever, and Part 2 through now takes place after Wolfsbane.**

 **Amber star, you troll. Get out of my review box, you read these chapters as beta!**

 **Fierywarlock999: ah, good for you. Now go, Guardian; reclaim your honor!**

 **This Is Sarcasm: You, ma'am, are VERY close about what you say about Lyse, and you're spot on with the Grey Jedi comparison. But you're the second person, aside from amber star, who's made that guess about her origins. I'm going to be vague, and say that was one of many ideas for her. I spent all summer figuring out her character, and many of these things were chosen, but I'm not going to elaborate which ones. Heck, there's a version of this where she turned out to be Uldren's twin, lost dead in a coup and revived years later. Nonetheless, I'm looking forwards to peeling back the layers of Lice the Onion, and showing who she really is inside.**

 **Wow, long author's note. I could spend hundreds of more words breaking down the trailers, but I.m just going to say I can't wait to get my hands on the Arcstrider subclass, and I'm really looking forwards the the fact it looks like we get to spend some personal time with each of the Vanguard. It'll be a great way to really get to know their characters fully, and I'm going to love it. I also noticed a little clip of Felwinter's peak in there(kinda hard to see it over the twerking Titan), and Zavala asking when the "peak" would be "combat ready" sort of confirms we'll be seeing the home of the Iron Lords again.**

 **Also, the Iron Banner last week. I haven't had that much fun since the KDR rampage of '16. I also two-manned the Nightfall. Twice. Of all the upgrades Destiny 2 is featuring, I am highest praising the way they're fixing the way we have to find teams. So long, LFG; you always sucked Trall spit!**

 **Next Time: Martin tries to watch the hardest things, and Saladin is on a mission.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	23. Be Brave

**Quote of the Day: _"If you have the courage to begin, you have the courage to suceed."_**

* * *

Martin sat hunched over his work desk, the terminal on his computer frozen on an image of a scientist injecting something into the arm of a little girl curled, crying and in pain, on the floor of a white room. He'd pent all night reading the files gathered by the Crow named Himalay, the extensive details, the hell-bent effort she'd put into piecing Heather's story together. He wondered why she'd wanted to know so desperately. He guessed nobody ever would, considering the disease had killed her months ago.

He was in his 'nerd cave', as Silverhawk called it. In the middle was one large, tall table with bits and pieces large and small of various inventions and projects that he'd started and didn't have the glimmer to continue. At the other end of the room was a desk stacked high with old blueprints, and some of the larger papers, he had spread out on the floor or overlapped.

He sniffed, trying to dry his face off with the back of his hand. He'd known it would be bad. He'd known there might be things in here that he might not be able to take. But watching it happen in that recording... reading the reports, the reports that spoke so clinically, so coldly, about the torture of a little girl. His _sister_. He took in a shuddering breath, trying to keep a sob held close to his chest. If she was home, he didn't want to wake her.

"I wish I could back in time and shoot them in the knees." he rasped, blinking rapidly.

"Yeah... but, I've seen you shoot." Wheatly commented from where he was sitting on one of the blades of the ceiling fan.

"Then I wish I could shoot better! _Then_ I wish I could go back in time an shoot them in the knees." he shot back halfheartedly. He knew if he could do it, he wouldn't. Even in the face of the vilest of Certech's men, he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger. Vengeance and blood bringing were Hunter's games, games he just didn't have the stomach or will for. In the end, he guessed they all just led back to the same pain, he supposed.

Or did that make him weak? No... maybe it just made him odd. A Guardian with no stomach for battle, a wielder of stunted Light that he was. It fit well, he thought bitterly. But this... he had to watch this. He had to read it. Had to force himself to, had to gather all the pieces and put them together like the puzzle they were. A puzzle he knew he could solve. He could do it... he just had to...

 _I need to take a break._ He tapped the screen off on his terminal, and rubbed his face with his hands, fingers sliding beneath his glasses, which needed cleaning. He looked at the clock. It was nearly eight... in the morning. He'd been up all night. _She'll be back from her night on the town..._

He should probably clean up before she saw him like this. "Wheatly." he waved his hand, beckoning his Ghost, who flew down from the fan and slipped into his top pocket. He turned the light off as he crept out of his workshop silently, poking his head out the door, checking to make sure Silverhawk wasn't already up. Straining his ears and hearing nothing, he hastily made his way to the bathroom and shut the door. He set the water on extra cold, taking his glasses off, and splashing his face.

He looked into the mirror. His blurry face was just a mass of haze. Just like the answers he sought. He blinked, shaking his head. He didn't feel tired. he felt restless. _I need a walk._

Cleaning his glasses, he left the bathroom, and peaked into Silverhawk's room. She wasn't there. He shrugged. Even in her recent 'paranoid' phase, it wasn't unusual for her to spend the night out in the wilds if she was feeling restless. _I'll probably see her later._

In any case, he left a note to let her know where he'd gone in case she came back while he wasn't here.

* * *

The cold morning air bit at his cheeks as he walked along The Wall. There was five feet of bulletproof glass rising up along the length of it on the side open to the wilderness. The wall of glass was only here along the East Wall because of the Drop Zone. He dared walk alongside it, and he jumped when a Wire Rifle shot smacked into the glass from from one of the many Fallen snipers that had stalked the Zone since Brask's death.

 _A large contingency of Guardians, rushing the Drop Zone from all sides, could easily flush those Fallen out._ But it would certainly take a while to navigate the land, locate all the snipers nests, and find out where the Fallen were coming from in the first place. It was near impossible, unless they knew where the most frequented nest sites were to begin with.

 _Unless you inlaid the glass with a tracking polymer that registered every potshot they take at us, thus pinpointing the nest sites and making a possible map of where they could be coming from._ He sighed. Yet another idea that would probably work wonders for the City, but he hadn't the courage to try it. Where was he going to get the money for microtech polymer like that anyway? He'd need it to even consider the project...

"Hey, Anton!" He whirled at the hostile voice. At this hour, The Wall had many Guardians on it, all of them on their morning runs, or just walking, like he was. The three people coming up from behind him, all in Future War Cult casuals, were headed by the last person he wanted to see.

"What do you want, Flint?" he asked, trying to keep his heart from pounding. Even after years went by, some rivalries refused to go quietly. The situation with Jimmy Flint had not improved over the years, nor had his attitude towards Martin and Silverhawk. And he was a jerk in the most childish ways about it, too, the fact he was with the War Cult aside.

"It's not what I want." he leered, striding up with his companions. "It's what the War Cult wants. Lakshmi is getting tired of being denied. She wants an answer. A real one."

 _And here I thought my battle with the War Cult ended when Tevis brought that one guy in..._ "Okay. Here's your answer; no. And I'll say it again for her to hear herself if she wants it."

"Not good enough Anton. We need great minds. And as pathetic as you are..." he looked the Warlock up and down with a sneer worthy of Prince Uldren. "Your mind is better than most."

Irritation shot through Martin, and hot, uncharacteristic anger flared through his veins. He clenched his fists. After everything he'd seen last night, after all he'd read, combined with the stress of what had happened at the Reef, he was in no mood to be playing this game right now, let alone with Jimmy Flint of all people. _He would probably_ love _to watch what those scientists did to her..._

"Look, I realize that you're just a trio of dumb grunts sent to beat around the candidates too stubborn to join your cult, but even you don't lack the intelligence to retain a message such as 'no' and bring it to Lakshmi." he grit his teeth, fist clenching. At this point most Warlocks would have had Light crackling in their palms, but his was barley a buzz. "Or do I need to use smaller words so I don't hurt your poor, brutish brains?"

"I'd be careful what I say right now, Anton!" Flint snapped, closing the distance between them in one stride. Just like that, Martin's anger petered out to be replace by fear. Flint grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Right now, I'm being nice, despite your associations, despite your freakish sister. Maybe you would change your tune if you saw things from a different perspective?"

He was too fast for Martin to stop him, and before he knew it, his glasses were ripped away from his face, and his world plunged into blurry disarray.

"Hey!" he lunged for Flint blindly, panic surging through him. _I can't see a thing!_ "I need those!"

"And we need members!" Flint danced away, causing Martin to trip, and, unable to stop his fall with his bad arm in a sling, slam his face into the concrete painfully. The War Cult grunts laughed. "Maybe the Fallen would like your glasses better, Anton?"

"You know, I've always disagreed with the Future War Cult's recruitment methods." a deep voice, coupled with an accent Martin didn't recognize commented as he managed to sit up, sniffing as he felt blood run down from his nose, dripping into his mouth. The laughing stopped, and Martin squinted to see any detail. _Holy space urchins, that guy is_ huge _!_

He couldn't make out any detail, but whoever it was, they towered over Flint and his allies, a blurred mass of dark brown and gray, and everything about him screamed 'Titan'.

"Don't like, don't watch, Allerson." Flint snapped, though Martin could detect a waver in his voice. He'd be terrified, too, if he had a massive Titan sizing him up.

"You know, I met a guy like you once, Flint. He killed me." The other Titan told him casually. "Him and his buddies ate it before I bled out, though, so unless you wanna get your sorry butt handed to you for dinner, I suggest you back off from the kid and hand over those specs."

"Make me!" Flint blurted. The dark mass of the other Guardian moved swiftly, and Ryan's messed-up form snapped back with a loud crack, likely the sound of a fist popping a jaw.

"THRALL SPIT AND SPACE URCHINS!" _I think I might have spent a little too much time with Uldren during our little 'quests' together..._

"And I'll take those, back, as well." the deep-voiced man said, as Flint lay shocked on the ground. "The rest of you gonna bail, or do I need to knock some sense into you, too?"

The other two ran off with a yelp, and Flint, cursing, scrambled up to fallow them.

"Don't forget to tell Lakshmi 'hi' for me!" Martin called after them, the warm feeling of triumph fizzing in his chest. The larger Titan strode up in front of him, and helped him to his feet. "Thanks for that!"

"No problem, kid." his dark shape shrugged, and Martin felt him press his glasses into his hand. He quickly held them up to the light, relieved to see they weren't cracked any, and affixed them back on his face, blinking as his savior's shape became clearer. Large, black, bald, with dark eyes, and gray running clothes with the Titan First Pillar Order's symbol stitched into them. "I'm from the nineteen sixties. Had an abundance of bullies back then."

"Really? That's cool." The Titan looked at him odd. "I-I don't m-mean about the, er, bullies, I, uh, meant about b-being from the nineteen sixties, and erm, thanks for the help, b-b-but I really should, uh, s-stop my nose bleeding, bye!"

He whirled and strode away with a purpose, leave the very confused man behind as he mentally slammed his head against a wall. _Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid! Stupid!_ _Why can't I talk to people, why!?_ He pulled a cloth out of his pocket and pressed it to his nose. The bleeding was already stopping. He couldn't even _thank_ someone without saying the wrong thing!

 _This could be an opportunity._ The Silverhawk-ish voice sang in his head before he could squash it down. He wanted to hide away, what if he just made a fool of himself again, trying to start over? _Stop being afraid and go make a friend before I kick your stupid bespectacled butt!_

This wasn't the beginning of a friendship; it was just one Guardian helping out another, that was all. But... wasn't that how a lot of friendships started out? He shook his head, _where_ was this coming from? Was the awkwardness of the situation so unbearable? He didn't need a friend, that last one hadn't worked out too well... or maybe that was exactly where this was coming from?

 _Thrall spit, Martin, be brave!_ He turned on his heel, and, voice high-pitched with nerves, threw himself into the fire.

"Have you eaten breakfast? I-It's the least I can do."

* * *

"You know, most people don't go out and eat with a broken face."

"It's not broken; it was just a minor case of epistaxis, very simple to clear up. My nose doesn't even hurt anymore." Martin said brightly, though on the inside he was giddy with terror, afraid he might mess up. He tried to focus on aiming his waffles as his mouth instead of his face, because he was still amazed that one man, even as big as this man was, could eat three slices of pecan pie and still be hungry. And what didn't help? He'd already forgotten his name.

"Um, this is going to sound really stupid, but, what was your name again?" he asked, wishing the void would swallow him up.

"Tripton, but call me Trip, it sounds less wierd in this day and age." the Titan requested. "And for pete's sake, chill; I may be big but I don't bite."

"Yeah. Sorry." he swallowed. "I-I've never been good with... people in general."

"It's cool. I've seen worse nerves." Trip shrugged. Martin tapped the table with one finger, trying frantically to think of a topic of conversation before they inevitably descended into an awkward silence.

"So... nineteen sixties. Culture shock?" he asked. To his surprise, Trip laughed.

"Culture shock? One moment a white guy is stabbing me to death, the next, I'm alive again, and a _blue_ guy is shoving a gun into my hands like we're long lost brothers or something. Best part? _Aliens_." he spread his arms out for emphasis. "Bug, hulking, _ugly_ aliens trying to rip our heads off, and we're just running, and I'm wondering if the Lord is playing some kind of practical joke on me or something. But no, aliens and equal rights. You know, I'm still not quite over the whole aliens part yet."

"Ye-yeah, that must have been a shocker." Martin resisted the urge to heave a sigh of relief. This seemed like a conversation he could carry without a nervous breakdown. "You still adjusting to being a free man?"

"Oh, I was always free; I just lacked the ability to exercise it." the large man shrugged. "But now? I don't have to fight for that ability anymore. Guess it wasn't a practical joke; God must've thought I was in the wrong fight, decided to plop me down here and say 'there, go fight aliens'. If His plan for me is to pound Thrall into dust, then that's what I'll do, not just for colored men, but all mankind. And then some. Did I mention Cayde nearly gave me a heart attack the first time I saw him? That was _science fiction_ in my time!"

Martin laughed. "Cayde? He's probably the least threatening person in the Vanguard! Personally, I think Ikora is terrifying!"

"But, you're a Warlock." he pointed out.

"She's like a really scary relative then." Martin waved his fork in a circle. "The one who just... stares at you. You know there's a rumor she can turn people into toads, right? Sometimes she looks like she can, I've only seen her angry, like, once, and it was terrifying!"

"Yeah, I guess she could be the scary aunt, huh?" Trip took a drink from his cup. "But one thing I still don't get is this whole Reef/City rift. Everyone here seems fairly accepting of each other, but not these reef folks. They're Awoken, just like the ones down here. What's the difference?"

"Well... It's hard to explain." the Warlock licked his lips. "The Reefborn are isolationists, a matriarchy, and up until Twilight Gap and the Reef Wars, their collaboration with the City was limited to one visit, like, every other decade, when they would bring the next heirs in to meet the Speaker. Our newfound cooperation is still shaky at best, and after that whole Lyse Ravenwood thing, I don't think it's going to get better."

"But that Warlock was a rogue." the Titan pointed out.

"But she was still a Warlock. This might be a different time, but the politics are still the same Thrall spit." he nudged his half-eaten waffle across his plate. "The Reef will hold us accountable, whether it's fair or not, and they'll ask for blood. They'll expect full cooperation with hunting down Lyse Ravenwood, and they'll take any refusal as a hostile act. Let's not forget... they've got two Guardians at the Reef right now, one of them injured."

"You think they'd hold them hostage?" he asked.

"I _know_ they would, I've worked with their prince. He hates Guardians. No thanks to me and my sister, I guess. But he would totally hold a wounded Guardian hostage, he'd do it in a heartbeat if it was to protect the Reef." And there was no doubt in Martin's mind; Uldren was completely capable of doing it, certainly. The only thing the Warlock couldn't fault the Prince of the Reef for, was that he loved his people. Or at least, his sister.

 _I think that's the only thing me and him have in common. That we take desperate measure, disgusting measure, even, for the people we care about._ He tried yet again to shake off the filthy feeling that had hung over him since bluffing his way to the data. The sun was up, the sky was cold, and he was trying, _trying_ to make a friend, before he had to go back into his work space and put himself through the horrors of the Certech files again.

His work with the Reef was over and done. He didn't know if he would ever speak to Variks again, and he wasn't man enough to try. And Petra... _N_ _o matter. She wasn't on the list of the dead after the attack, that's the last time I'll let myself care._ At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

He jumped as Trip tapped on the table. "Alright specs? You zoned out there a little."

"Y-yeah, fine. Just... thinking." telling yourself something, often didn't stop you from feeling heartbreak if someone you cared about twisted your bad arm.

* * *

Saladin had barely taken his helmet off since the news came of the attacks. He was afraid that if he took it off, they would see it in his eyes, the newest burden on his mind. His thoughts kept drifting over a young woman's face, looking up at him, asking if he was _really_ trusting her with the key. That was the sickening thought. That was the last time he saw her. All these years...

He shook his head. He needed answers. And with the surfacing of Lyse Ravenwood, came questions. Questions, and the revelation that not all things could possibly be a coincidence.

"...irresponsible! Am I the only one in this room that has any sense!?" He could hear Zavala yelling even from the other end of the Guardian's Hall. Even with his helmet on, Shaxx managed to look nervous as the Iron Lord passed, his gaze seemingly locked on the war room. What were they discussing?

"Hey, she disarmed me. Took one of her old guns right outta my hand." Cayde was protesting. "Besides, the way you hate her so much, I would've thought you'd be glad to be rid of her."

"She abandoned the City in favor of the Reef! If that isn't disloyalty, then what is?" Zavala snapped, eyes burning as Saladin entered the room. He was facing off against Ikora and Cayde, and none of the three looked happy. "Della Tay was in our City, because of _her_. She-"

"Dammit, Zavala, those circumstances were out of her control! Tay took her Ghost, if it had been me I would've done the same thing!" Cayde slammed one metal fist down on the table angrily. "Would you have me hang my cloak up, too? Damn right I'd run to the Reef!"

Saladin cleared his throat, and eyes turned to him. "Am I interrupting?"

"These two let a rogue Guardian escape with the Reef Prince." Zavala accused, jerking his head in the direction of his counterparts. "So yes, you are."

"Who was it?" he asked, ignoring his old apprentice's tone.

"Sierra Rogers." Cayde blurted before Zavala could stop him. Saladin shut his eyes. He remembered that name; one of the Hunters that graced his tournaments often, a mute, none the less. She'd always struck him as a strong soul, someone his deceased comrades would have welcomed into their ranks eagerly, though it could be her resemblance to Nirwen that brought these assumptions to him.

"Then she was the Guardian wounded in Lyse Ravenwood's attack?" he eyed Ikora and Cayde.

"Yes. Lyse burned her, badly." Ikora nodded.

"This is not about what happened in the Reef, this is about what happened before." Zavala pressed. "I think it's obvious that you let her escape, Cayde, but Ikora? I expected better from you."

"We had a rogue Guardian on the radar with a Ghost hooked up to our network, and Prince Uldren honestly believed she was his only option." the Warlock argued.

"Aur was with him." the Titan shot back. "He didn't need a disgraced Hunter."

"Disgraced!? Discharging her because she was mute, _that_ was a disgrace!" Cayde protested indignantly.

"Aur is head of the Phoenixsong Order, their focus is mostly on healing, not melting Awoken outposts." Ikora stated at the same time.

"All of you, enough!" Saladin snapped, loosing his patience. All heads turned in his direction. "A Guardian was wounded, Awoken were killed, and powerful Warlock is at large with an agenda you don't understand! Sierra Rogers going with the Prince might just have saved more lives than it would have if she'd stayed here. She willingly abandoned the City to fight something she didn't understand, and from what I hear, she paid the price dearly. I didn't come here to listen to you squabble about how to punish her for it, I have my own business to attend to, and I was _hoping_ to attend to it before the next round of matches."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. _They've probably been arguing like this for days._ Zavala shot another glare at Cayde and Ikora, who dispersed back to their duties, the Exo casting a final leer at his commander. "You know, Uldren never transferred command before you fired her."

"Get back to you duties!" Zavala snarled. The Hunter scrambled back to his maps. Saladin couldn't resist a snort of amusement. _Apparently, aphorism's work on Titan's too._

"I take it you know what I wanted to talk about?"he asked quietly. Zavala let out a heavy sigh.

"Does it have to do with the fact you just dropped in and tried to do my job for me? Or does it have to do with the Future War Cult's newest project?" he asked, glowing eyes glinting.

"The latter more than the former." Saladin nodded. "I need you to arrange me a meeting with Lakshmi. There are... select words I would like to have with her about Blackpeak."

"I'd imagine some of those words won't be too polite." Zavala smiled grimly. "I'll see what I can do."

"Indeed, they won't be." he confirmed. "And thank you. About that Hunter... I can't say I know her personally, but I know that what she did was right. I would have done the same in her position. It... would have been my obligation."

* * *

 **Wow, E3, right? I can't believe they denied us Arcstrider gameplay, nobody was allowed to record! I'm a Hunter, dammit! I WANT FOOTAGE!**

 **alienraptor: Not so interested in the gun as the launcher, myself. I've never liked machine guns or auto rifles.**

 **Fan of Variks: Everyone wants to write a fanfic of a fanfic at some point. Everyone want's Petra to get her looser in tin foil, but I don't think Uldren will be friends with all guardians anytime soon. Some people never change.**

 **Guest: Nope. Sometimes i want to write an Au of this story, but I'm not going to because THAT would be wierd.**

 **Furious Titan: Ah, yes, I went to see GotG2 the day it came out, it was great. Taserface*snickers*. Yes, Princess Bride has it's dirty fingerprints all over this fanfiction, and it's not going to stop here. Yup, Ryan knew all along, I've been waiting a while to throw this out there.**

 **RandomFandom3: Silverhawk wasn't 'made', she was born like a regular person. Certech took her because of her unique DNA, and were able to give her these 'powers'. An Awoken/Human hybrid is supposed to be impossible because of their genetic differences, but Silverhawk's parents somehow got lucky.**

 **Fan of Variks: comment: you reviewed twice. My OCD is breaking my brain.**

 **And here we** **have little Martin, hurting from certech and trying to overcome his terror of social interaction. I had one tab open to nineteen sixties slang the whole time I wrote this, and it was actually very interesting. Trip's not going to be too major a character, but he is going to fill the void where we lack enough Titans in this fic, and I needed to introduce another character.**

 **That... and the nineteen sixties were kind of cool; you could get a pound of candy for like, ten cents. That's awesome. And this guy is going to kick butt old school, and we needed someone sane in order to make up for the heavy amount of crazy we have.**

 **THE BETA! THE BETA! And apparently, as per freaking usually, the Playstation people get the good stuff... ten bucks says their exclusive strike is the one that has SIVA in it. Typical, I won't be able to play it until Year Two... or would it technically be Year Five, adding on the Destiny 1 Years? Here's to hoping that 'Anthem' doesn't kick D2 off the market. Bioware jumped on the looter shooter bandwagon, their game looks like Destiny and Mass Effect had a baby or something.**

 **A baby with robo goat legs, LoL.**

 **If this keeps up, there will be too many grinds to keep up with. I learned a terrible lesson long ago, while trying to play multiple Final Fantasies; grinding two games at once will drive you insane. That's all there is to it.**

 **From what I here about it, though, the Arcstider is a dodge-and-melee happy little guy, and as a pro Nightstalker, that sounds interesting. Graviton Forfeit has been permanently glued to my Hunter's face ever since I got it, and I'm one of those people who shadsteps on instinct every time I take damage. Escape a melee? Shadestep. Titan running at me, obviously trying to shoulder charge? Shadestep, then melee. See a sniper? SHADESTEP TO COVER BECAUSE YOUR KDR DEPENDS ON IT! Flux grenade? Shadestep, then throw poisoned smoke in their face before shooting them. Chaff is the weekly modifier? Shadestep into the third person view to scan my surroundings if I don't know where I'm taking damage from.**

 **As you can see, I love shadestepping, and I can't wait to implement it even more into my playstyle with D2. The ten second cooldown is going to be a problem, though; name one game that had a ten second cooldown for a dodge. It would work for any other ability, but a dodging move? No, it does not, and this gives me concerns.**

 **Oh, well, there will be plenty of feedback to give after the beta. going to have loads of fun with that! Whoo!**

 **Next Time: Silverhawk sugar binges to compensate for her emotions, and tries to interrogate Martin's new friend like the responsible sister she is.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	24. Letters, Bingeing, and Mercy

**Quote of the Day: _"Gentlemen; I wash my hands of this madness." - Captain Jack Sparrow_**

* * *

She woke up in the Tower infirmary. She didn't change her breathing. She couldn't _hear_ anyone, but that could still change. She felt something in her hand, crinkly, like paper, and dared to open one eye just a crack.

Nobody was there. She sat up, opening both eyes. Morning light filtered in through the windows, and there were a few other patients still asleep. The events from before her blackout flashed through her mind once more, and she heaved a deep breath, running one hand through her hair, which was now loose.

"Well, _that_ happened." she said out loud. Westley flashed into existence beside her.

"Yes, it did!" he exclaimed. he zipped around the general area panicky as he spoke, words coming out at ninety miles per hour, as if he'd been holding it all in since the night before. "I mean, how could this happen? I should of picked him up on my radar back then! Wheatly should have noticed! _I_ should have noticed! Thrall spit and Dreg fleas, who _else might have seen over these years_! We need to tell Cayde, we need to tell Tevis-but then they'd be mad at us, they bailed us out back then! URG! Okay, it's official, I don't know what to do; do you know what to do? You know what, you decide what to do i need to hide for the next one thousand years."

With that, he zipped underneath her pillow in shame, letting out a muffled wail of desolation once he was out of sight. _Buddy, you took the words right out of my mouth._ She honestly had no idea what to do either. Back then, on that day, they had all been mere children. It had been easy enough for Cayde and Tevis to frighten Flint into keeping quiet. Though the Titan now was smarter, knew better, he still hadn't blabbed. And Ryan... what in the world had _possessed_ him to ask her out, to hang around with her, to wait with her when she thought Martin had been hurt in the Reef... to do _all_ those things?

His last words from the night before rang through her head again, and heat flushed her cheeks. Was that Ryan being a stupid, cheesy romantic like he usually was, Ryan trying to calm her down, assure her, or Ryan, being the most honest he was capable of being, answering every ' _why_ ' in her mind with only a few sentences? She clenched her fist, feeling the paper crinkle in her hand again.

With a deep breath, she held her fist up, and opened her hand. Pressed into her palm was a note, in messy handwriting. She unfolded it, gut twisting with uncertainty, and range of emotions she'd never felt before.

 ** _Heather(I hope you don't mind me calling you that, I'll stop it if you say so),_**

 ** _I want to apologize for overwhelming you like that last night, I really hope you don't... well, flip and never talk to me again. I know I've always come off as a flirt, a lot of girls think I just mess around a lot(not that I do, I'm being honest when I tell you 'the icky' sound terrifying to me), and while I do appreciate a good snog, it speaks volumes of irony in this respect._**

 ** _This respect, that I really did mean everything I said last night. From the bottom of my heart, if you like cliches. Who would've thought? Of all the girls, I have to fall hardest for the one I can't lay a finger on? And it took last night-it_ really _, took last night- to make me realize... I'm alright with that. Blaze thinks that this is a bad idea. He yelled at me for hours the night after I first spoke to you all those years ago. He's tried to encourage me to let go of you, that in the end I'll wind up a broken heart- because how can you live with yourself if you can't even hug the woman you love without fear of death?_**

 ** _I'm alright with that, Silverhawk. If the most I can ever do is hold your gloved hand, if I'm fated never to touch your face, if all I can ever give for comfort is my voice alone, I'm alright with that. I don't care if I can never touch you- I love you. You can't beat your own heart back._**

 ** _Thrall spit, I don't even know if you feel the same way. I think so-thought so? Hope so? It's... alright if you don't. I'll understand if you don't, but please don't just shut down and out on me. At least tell me. At least let me know, that you know, I would_ never _tell anyone about your abilities, not even under a death threat. If you don't love me... just tell me you trust me. That'll be enough for me, and I'll be alright with that, too._**

 ** _Just... I won't bug you, but here's my Ghost's channel. Talk to me when you feel like it, but- try to do it before I go crazy, will you? You're not the only one who's freaking out, I just poured my heart out onto a piece of paper and none of it sounds right. That, and I kind of feel like a creeper after watching you sleep for three hours._**

 ** _I hate letters. This is awkward._**

 ** _-Ryan ( freq. GH-325)_**

She felt like a black hole was expanding and warping inside her chest, like her Light was crackling along with it. Her hands shook, her throat was tight, and the strange emotions felt like they might make her explode. She breathed deeply, and for some reason it was difficult not to cry. She failed miserably in that respect, and hot tears were soon running freely down her cheeks.

If any of the other patients in the infirmary noticed her silent sobs, they said nothing, giving her distance. She couldn't understand... she couldn't understand _any_ of it. Ryan's words made something... _exciting_ pull and try to burst out of her chest, like some beast that had just been presented with everything it had ever wanted. Did... did she _want_ Ryan Newton? She... _thought_ she did. _Thought? Think? Hope? Know?_ Which one?

And at the same time she felt every instance where her deathtouch had closed her off from the world. Every reason she could never be normal. Every day she locked away the secret pain, every time she missed the taste of apple, every time she longed, wished, that just once, for even just fifteen seconds, she could bury herself in the arms of another person, feel the warmth of another being holding her, feel some pulse of life beneath her bare fingers...

 _How can you live with yourself if you can't even hug the woman you love without fear of death?_ She kept seeing the words dance in front of her eyes mockingly. _He'd be_ alright _with that? He'd_ choose _that?_ She took a shuddering breath, and, clenching Ryan's letter tightly in her fist, she stood, put her shades back on, and snatched her fedora off the side table. She strode away from the bed, out of the infirmary, head and heart still spinning.

She failed to see, how _anyone_ could ever be 'alright' with living like that.

* * *

"Thanks again, for helping me with this. You really didn't have to." Martin said as he opened the door to his home- unlocked, Silverhawk was home. _Oh, by the Traveler, Heather, please don't be on another sugar binge or something..._ That was the last thing his new friend needed to see.

"No problem, specs." Trip shrugged, smiling. In his massive arms, he had two sacks of high-grade spinmetal and relic iron; things that Martin, with his... unfortunate lack of muscle mass, would never be able to handle. "Still think you overdid it with those helium filaments a little."

"One thing you must know about the art of science, my friend, is that you can never, have enough helium filaments." he crowed, waving the bag of considerably lighter material slightly before pushing the door open. "Just feel free to set that stuff on the table. And um... don't mind my sister if she's a little... _off_."

"Cool." the large man shrugged again, and had to duck in order to fit through the doorway. Everything _seemed_ quiet, as Martin closed the door. _Suspiciously_ quiet.

"WHOZZAT!?" the fedora-doned head popped out from behind the corner, and he internally winced. There was something sticky stuck to her lips, and her hair fell in strands from beneath her hat.

"This is Trip. Trip, this is my sister, Silverh-"

Why did he think he would get a complete two sentences out?

"Have you ever snapped a steel I-beam in half with your bare hands? Have you ever killed a man with your thumb?" she interrogated, swooping in on the Warlock's new friend like a hawk, which looked slightly ridiculous since the Titan dwarfed her even when she stood on her toes to try and lean into his face. Martin felt his face flush red with embarrassment as she continued. "Were you born with perfect abs, or did you steal them from someone? What's one plus two? How do you spell 'sriracha'? Have you ever drank sriracha? Are you qualified to administer an epi-pen? HAVE YOU EVER KILLED AN ARCHON!?"

He grabbed her by the back of the cloak and dragged her away from the confused man.

"Hey! I'm trying to have a conversation with this gentleman!" she protested as he shoved her into her room and shut the door.

"You were _interrogating_ him!" he Martin countered. "Don't _interrogate_ my friends! I was _this_ close to freaking out earlier, and I've actually made progress, and I don't need that set back because you _interrogated_ him!"

"I was not _interrogating_ , I was _vetting_ him, and-hold on, did you just say 'friend'?" she double-took, and then grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. "You made a _friend_!? You actually, actually _socialized_!? WITH A FELLOW HUMAN BEING INSTEAD OF A GEEKY FALLEN!?"

Discomfort wormed it's way under his thoughts at the mention of Variks, and he winced as she yelled. "Yes, now stop yelling an- hold on, how much exactly did you binge on? And... why?"

He eyed the wrappers scatter all over her room and bed, and two, maybe three soda cans, one of which had spilled over her bed. She backed off with an annoyed huff, and jumped onto her bed, crossing her legs as she spoke. "Enough that everything's a little bouncy. Nothing to worry about, I'll totally sleep it off when I sugar crash, I just needed to feel about an inch of my normal self after last night."

"And, what happened last night?" he crossed his arms, concerned. She looked up and around the room, avoiding meeting his gaze.

"Hey, you hear that super annoying sound? I think that's you."

"Silverhawk."

"You know, I think I feel that crash coming on. Talk later? Okay, later it is then."

"Silverhawk."

No, seriously, bugger off; I need to clean off my bed before I crash.

" _Heather_. What. Happened. Last. Night."

"Ryan knows." she blurted out. "He's known since Jimmy Flint has and he's totally in love with me and I have no freaking idea what to do because I adore him and his stupid hair and rock-hard abs and his personality like a chicken high on ripe grapes and cherry soda and now I'm just saying random things to distract you from the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm seriously thinking about running to Tevis for help because he's the only person who's ever been in a stable relationship before because Cayde has dated over one hundred women and he's failed miserably at all of them and mom is from Venus so she's not even an option and i'm going to stop talking now because you totally look like you're about to faint and I'm running out of breath. That enough?"

"He... _what_?" Martin managed to choke. This was one of their worst nightmares, and it was even worse by the fact that Trip was currently in their front room, likely wondering if he should ditch the wierd Warlock and his crazy sister- _no! no nihilistic thinking, shoo, shoo, go AWAY, you stupid pessimism_ -and Martin wasn't entirely sure if he could hide away the look that was on his face right now.

"He knows. He knows about my deathtouch, and he left me a heartfelt note confessing his love. I mean, that sound super cliche, but it was kind of sweat, and I _may_ have cried a little, and I think I'm dying inside." she shrugged, and then let herself fall backwards with a dramatic groan on the bed, her head landing directly in the soda spill. "Urrg, help me! What do you do when a guy really likes, you really like him, and you have a deadly condition where you could kill him if you _touch_ him wrong?"

 _I_ need _to find that cure!_ He didn't know the answer to her question, but he did know the solution to it never being asked in the first place. "I don't know." he murmured, clenching his fists. He turned towards the door, reaching for the handle, and looked back at her. This was something she had to figure out on her own, but it was something she hopefully wouldn't have to deal with long. He was determined to make it so, and the best way to do that was to stop crying in his basement and start poking around where his nightmares lived. His... and hers.

It was times like this where the term 'time to man-up' came to mind.

He left the room, shutting the door, to find Trip still waiting in the kitchen, the supplies they'd brought still waiting in their bags. Much to the Warlock's relief, he looked amused and not put off by his sister's behavior. He smirked as he caught sight of him.

"Hunters, huh? Never a dull moment when they're around. And to answer some of her questions her questions... once, nope, double-nope, three, s-r-i-r-a-c-h-a, and ohh, heck yes. Every Thursday. No idea what an epi-pen is, and I've never really been sent after a high-profile target before." He shrugged. "Usually just hanging around the wall or on patrol, this are usually dull for me."

Martin bit his lip. He couldn't do this alone. Technically, Trip wasn't even an actually friend yet; they'd only just met... but again, the words 'man-up' flashed through his mind. He had to shake off his usual cowardice; if he could do something as despicable as blackmail, he could ask this Titan for help. Not revealing everything, of course, he'd only see pieces of the puzzle, but never enough to put together the whole picture.

 _I'd be_ using _him._ Again, he felt that flash of 'you're a terrible human being', but he put it aside. Trip seemed like a fairly level-headed, understanding person, from what he had gathered so far. He was Catholic, so he was likely to be fairly forgiving if there ever came a time when to many questions were asked and Martin was forced to tell the truth. _He would understand trying to help her... he would... wouldn't he?_

How _would_ the large man react if he knew Silverhawk's secret? How would anyone? How had Ryan Newton reacted, whenever and however it was that he had found out? _Put the doubts aside and_ act _, Martin. It's time to be brave for once..._

"Actually... I was going on an expedition just outside the wall later tomorrow. How would you like it to come along?"

* * *

Eliksni mothers rarely had strong feelings for their young. Sometimes, the maternal instincts would surface for a time, but the affection always vanished at some point when the hatchlings became too troublesome. Legends said they once had cared. Not anymore.

In most houses, only the strongest females were allowed to have eggs. Not in House Winter. In House Winter, even the dreg female were allowed to mate, so desperately more solders were needed. It was a problem long before the death of Draksis and the collapse of the House, and it's subsequent absorption into House Wolves. The population was suffering not because of disease, Brightfangs, or their war with the Vex, but because of the sulfur in Venus' atmosphere. The masks that fed them ether also let in air from outside, so that they could pick up a scent. The air was choking, and the sulfur would often get into the ether while the Servitors made it, as well.

Eggs often came out cracked because of the smoke and the sulfur, or sometimes never hatch at all. The females of House Winter had detached themselves more so than others because of this. So when Grayris discovered she was heavy with egg once again, she thought little of it, other than that perhaps one of the eggs might hatch this time and she would have one more for her crew. Just a group of seven right now; the captain, Zarkiks, was her mate, one of the three vandals was his hatching-sibling, and all three of the dregs were so thin, she was certain they would be dead within the week.

They had been on the move since Draksis fell. Sensing the inevitable fall of hat survived of the House to the prowling Wolves, she had led her crew into desertion with their skiff, and were now traveling Venus looking for whatever safe territory they could scavenge. Others might call it less than a life, but they were Eliksni; they have little complex thoughts, aside from battle else was generally considered to be a waste of time, but none of them noticed that this was a poisoning of the Darkness.

They all thought it was normal, the haze that they didn't notice. For as long as someone couldn't _think_ for themselves, as an individual... they were easy to corrupt, to control. It was a haze that only a rare few escaped from.

That day was like any other Venusian day, the day that _it_ happened. She often liked to wander, to let the quite sink in. It allowed her to ponder their next change of direction; the ridge to the north or the mountains to the south, for example, or perhaps the abandoned Human city she could see off in the distance from her current vantage point, but hadn't before. Another bonus of the wanderings; she saw more that she would've otherwise.

She was considering the city when she heard it; gunfire, from the direction of where they had made camp. Even from here, her sharp ears could pick up the loud barking of Human-made weapons in comparison to the sharper, electrical noises of her own people's weaponry. _Brightfangs!_ With a snarl of anger she whirled around and raced back the way she came. If her crew was eliminated, she would _have_ to find a new house; a lone, egg-heavy female, baroness or not, was easy prey.

But Brightfangs worked quickly, and when she entered camp, she nearly tripped over Zarkiks. Kneeling, she shook him, but the burning hole in his chest guaranteed no survival. She let out a frustrated growl, but she silenced herself when another sound, one she hadn't noticed before, reached her ears; the whimpering of a Human. She snapped her head around in the direction for the noise, reaching for her rifle, but knowing she wouldn't reach it in time to kill the Brightfang that had raised it's fire-born pistol at her.

She sucked in ether, and, commanded by some ancient instinct, one of her lower hands shot to her abdomen as she leveled her rifle in a futile attempt to defend herself. The Brightfang was fast, it was no use, she could never pull the trigger on time-

No shots were fired. They both simply sat there, pointing their guns at each other. The Brightfang has some sort of liquid streaming from her eyes. At her side, on the ground, the work of Zarkiks' shrapnel launcher no doubt, was a male Brightfang, dead, no doubt about it. But over the death, she finally scented it; the hormones of a pregnant mammal. Very early stages, no doubt.

Perhaps, it was an instinct. Perhaps, mothers always knew. Perhaps, it was fate. All she knew for certain that as soon as she realized the Brightfang hesitated, she scrambled, turned, and ran instead of shooting it, heart pounding in her chest. She charged onto her skiff, now alone, and her lower hands shook as she prepped to get it into the air as fast as possible.

One hand drifted again to her abdomen, as realization caught up with her.

They were the only reason she was alive right now, probably. She still couldn't tell if it was her who'd shown mercy, or the Brightfang, but she was was more certain of the latter than the former. Tiny future hatchlings who's eggshells were barely formed yet, had saved her life. She wrapped her lower arms over her stomach and squeezed slightly, maybe part of her was hoping to feel them. She took several steadying breaths.

They had to _live_. They _had_ to live _now_. Staying on Venus would kill them, she had to leave, she had to make sure they all hatched, safe, alive. This was the clutch she couldn't loose, not now that she owed them a life debt. The very least she could do was give them a chance.

 _House Kings, too difficult to find. House Devils unstable, Prime gone, Archon too young. House Exile, never an option. Wolves logical, but... might make me stay on Venus._ There was only one other House she could think of; word through discrete channels was that some of House Waters survived. The red planet was hot, perfect for Eliksni's cold blood, and a half-dead House would more than likely eagerly take in a female heavy with egg. And take _very_ good care of that female as well.

She directed the skiff to orbit, hoping it still had enough energy to make it as far as the red planet. She cast one last glance at Venus out the window, pondering it as she had pondered the city, but now also pondering the Brightfangs as well, in a way she never had before. It had shown _mercy_. How did that happen? From a young age, all an Eliksni knew of Brightfangs was that they were slaughterers. But... in hindsight... had she ever questioned _why_ that was? Had she ever asked herself what this long, tiresome war was about? It suddenly startled her to realize the answer was 'no', she never had. What else had she failed to realize?

What other questions had she failed to ask, about the Brightfangs?

* * *

 **Stay with me here, I _am_ going somewhere with this!**

 **alienraptor: Yeah, our little Warlock is 'manning up' and getting out there!**

 **FanOfVariks: Relations started improving after cooperation in Fever, and during the Rebellions, but there's still a little tense-ness going on there, and Lyse blasting Faroth and trying to kill the Crown Prince doesn't help.**

 **jsm1978: I know, but I just wasn't feeling it for the rest of the conversation. I've been at a 'bleh' stage for the last few months. He needs friends, poor guy. And Trip is just the right person for the job, too; he's a reliable Titan to fall back on, and, lets face it, Martin kind of needs full blown air support when it comes to dangerous situations.**

 **Guest: Awoken are 'evolved' Humans, highly more genetically complex than Humans by the changes they underwent, in theory. Like, a Human can't crossbreed with a chimp, now can they?It's like that. And there were no Awoken in the Golden Age; Silverhawk was born during the Collapse period, when the Awoken were first starting to crop up(and still freaking out that they woke up blue that morning). zher mother was a first generation Awoken, and her father was Human. In this fic, the Collapse wasn't just suddenly 'ploop, there, Humanities ruined'. It would take at least a century for the Darkness to send us back into the stone age from the technological standpoint were were at when it happened.**

 **Furious Titaness: I'm still trying to decide that myself; in my head he kind of hops between defender and striker. His role as Martin's Titan 'bestie' was originally going to be filled by Ryan(who would have been less insane), but then I realized I wouldn't have enough class diversity among my characters; an army of Hunters and Warlocks and Ryan as the one, lonely Titan in the lineup just didn't feel right. So, I came up with giant, 'man of mans snap your arm off with one hand and pet a kitten with the other' Trip. Never lay off the humor. If you need somewhere to put all the major crazy, just right a new fic as a 'crazy dump'(okay, WOW, that sounded really bad on paper). That's what I do! I needed somewhere to put all my crazy, and I wound up putting it into a Fever-escue Mass Effect fic where one of the synthetic characters wants to buy the crew a watermelon for moral support(geth who it is, ME fans). Just as an example.**

 **Well, unfortunately, this will be my last update until fall. Every writer needs a break, and I need one now. Last year, I spent my summer writing Heartbusters, so know I will keep typing while I'm away, but the chapters won't hit the screen until the weather gets cold and I get depressed again(because I live in Oregon and rain is depressing and I only type when I'm EXTREMELY super bored). Posting on the Destiny 2 release date is a no-go... because you won't be reading fanfiction, so I'll be posting sweet, sweet chapter 25(oh my gosh, a multiple of five EEEEEEEEEEEE!) a few days before release so I can take advantage of the content-starved, eager-to-shoot-but-tired-of-the-same-Hive-games people who run to fanfiction when their favorite game has nothing left to do in it besides smash other people in the crucible.**

 **So yeah, look forwards to that, and try to stay sane while 15 Seconds takes a load off. I might still update Call Us a Circus(my aforementioned 'crazy dump') when I'm feeling peckish for posting, but other than that, I'll be spending my time chilling with Saladin, playing the beta, and preparing myself for a world possibly without Nightstalker(cries uncontrollably). The ONLY bright side in this is that 'fwua-TING' will never be heard in the Crucible again, therefore, I can stop panic-tethering at every doorway.**

 **...actually, in hindsight, panic-tethering might be the exact reason they're removing the TTK subclasses.**

 **Next Time: Martin pays a visit to the pain room, we check in briefly with the Reef, and Silverhawk just kind of wants a hug.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	25. Face Your Truths

**Quote of the Day: _"100,000 trees a day are cut to make examination papers. SAY NO TO EXAMS! SAVE THE TREES!"_**

* * *

At first she wondered why she woke up on the floor. She had gotten used to it in the early days, before Variks had stumbled in on her whilst gripped by an episode. She had never come out any worse for it, but it had made her rather sore. It was after Variks and Faroth got clued in to her secret that she'd started waking up in bed, with warm food waiting for her. She'd gotten used to that, afterwards.

But now she was on the floor again, and it took a few moments for Petra to remember why; Variks wouldn't so much as acknowledge her presence in a hallway(why would he, after what she had done to Martin), and Faroth...

Faroth was a patient in his own infirmary; well, not his, actually. Lyse had turned his infirmary to a melted mass of scorched rubble, he and several others were now being tended to in a temporary facility. He would be scarred for life, and they had already gone through the first round of surgeries to prepare him for the eventual installment of a cybernetic exoskeleton to assist his severely damaged arm. The whole process would be incredibly agonizing, from what she heard, and it made her feel even more miserable-

Wait. Why was there a blanket over her? She blinked open her eye, and realized she was in recovery position. She groaned internally, throwing the blanket off of herself with a flash of irritation. _Oh, tell me he didn't!_

She stormed into her living room to find him sitting on the couch. _He did!_

"You idiot!" she admonished, hands on her hips. Faroth looked up at her from the book he'd been reading, his remaining eyebrow raised.

"Good morning to you, as well." he drawled sarcastically. His arm was in a sling, just visible under the night robes he'd likely stolen from the rude doctor that had taken his place as the Outpost's head physician, and the left half of his face and the side of his neck was covered in a gauze patch, the edges of the burns slightly visible. There was one cut on his other cheek that had been stitched shut, and though smoke inhalation would have normally been a problem for most fire victims, keeping him safe in sound in his bed where breathing assistance was available, Aur's healing abilities had rendered such care unneeded, though it had been unable to save him from most of the burns.

"You should be in the infirmary! You certainly wouldn't let _me_ run around with burns like that!" she snapped. He didn't look too much worse than usually, a little more pale, though, likely from exerting himself.

" _You_ are afflicted with an unknown neurological phenomenon, one that nearly sends you into cardiac arrest every other day, and _I_ am the only one who knows about it." he reasoned, with that horrible, smug, _good_ reasoning he was so damned gifted with. " Would you like me to tell our esteemed guest doctor about this?"

"No." she sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand. She looked back up at him. "Are you _okay_? How did you get out of there, anyway?"

"Miss Roger's Ghost was quite eager to distract the staff with an inappropriate serenade, I believe he's dreadfully bored down there, judging by the lyrics. Here's to hoping Sierra's back on her feet soon, his ins and outs are rather off putting." he waved his good hand. "And yes, I fell the same as usual; no better, no worse. I'm fine. I'd have fixed you breakfast, but I'm afraid I'm down one arm."

She didn't stop looking at him, frowning. His bedside smile was entirely forced, and wavered as he answered. He had served as one of their unit's medics during the Reef wars; one of the first males to achieve the position. He'd seen injuries big and small, he'd sat at the bedsides of people who had been gored by shock blades and ripped apart by arc grenades, and never _once_ through it all had she seen him break. She herself had never broken at the sight of wounds; it had always only driven her to get at the enemy more.

Until it was her lying on the ground covered in blood. Until she'd woken up and looked in the mirror for the first time, until she'd run her fingers over the scars, until her own unseeing eye had blinked sightless back at her. Then, she'd learned something; it was different when it was you. Letting out a breath, she sat down next to him, leaning her head back against the leather. They sat in silence for several long moments, during which she heard his breathing hitch once or twice.

"I...I'm not fine." he murmured. "At all, Petra."

She laid one hand on his shoulder, and she saw him shut his eyes.

"Do you remember what you told me?" She asked. "After I lost my eye, and the Queen sent me to the city?"

He stayed silent.

"You have a life. Live it." She squeezed his shoulder. "It still belongs to you, no matter how hurt you are, no matter what you lose."

"And what have you lost recently, Petra?" he asked suddenly. When he met her gaze it was hard but soft. "What happened between you three?"

"What?" she blinked with confusion. _How could he possibly know about_ that _!?_ She clenched her fist. _Variks._

"I don't want to know what sort of secrets were on that data drive, and Variks has assured me it wouldn't endanger the Reef... but that was out of line, out of hand, and... quite frankly, not like you at all." he said. His next words were clinical in their entirety, but managed to send something boiling through her blood all the same, and she wasn't sure if it was shame, or guilt, or anger that he was even talking about this. "Considering the damage done by the initial injury-and I should know because I'm the one who treated it-and the notes the Tower doctor and I had been sharing in the initial days, what you did may have just set Martin's recovery back days, maybe even weeks. _That_ is why Variks told me, and he was completely right to do so."

"Did Variks tell you what _Martin_ did?" She snapped. "What he did to get that data?"

"Yes, and he also told me that it was done to save a little girl." Faroth shot back. "Something about an incurable medical condition."

"He bargained with my life!" she couldn't keep it in any longer. "I trusted him, I thought I _felt_ something for him, and he used the cure as a bargaining chip for data about some... some _thing_ that I'm not even sure I trust him to be around, it's so dangerous."

She still hadn't settled on which feeling overrode her more; her anger at Martin... or the fear that came with knowing he was living with someone who killed by touching. _Why should I even care anymore?_ A bridge had been burned and it couldn't be re-built.

"Petra..." Faroth sighed. He took her face with his good hand. "When will you realize that some people have sacrificed more than what you think you've lost? When will you learn... it hurt him, too, when he did that?"

* * *

She jerked awake. It was wishful thinking, from her subconscious. It was the part of her that hoped it had been hard for him to do it, but the Martin Variks had described making the deal didn't sound like Martin at all. It sounded like an ice cold Hidden or Crow making bargaining with death, but yet part of her still hoped.

 _Stop hoping, Petra. Stop dreaming of something that isn't._ She blinked open her eye when she realized the dream was repeating itself; she was on the floor, in recovery position, though a little sloppier, and there was a blanket over her. She heaved a breath. She really didn't feel like repeating her conversation with Faroth with some other figment of her mind. Maybe this time it would Rogers and her Ghost, or perhaps Prince Uldren would be the one who confronted her.

She slowly pushed herself to her feet, sore all over from a night spent lying on the floor instead of on a mattress. She left the room, not to see another dream figure sitting on the couch, but Faroth for real. He wasn't sitting up, reading, like he had been int he dream. He was in the chair instead of the couch, with the same night robes on, but he was a great deal paler, and his eyes were closed as he rested, shivering slightly. This was how she knew it wasn't a dream; in the dream, there'd been no sign of pain in his eyes, but when he looked up as she entered the room now, they were full of pain, pain caused by the effort of just getting here on his own.

But the fact he was here, that she'd seen what might have been a possible future, and still remembered it...

"You know, you ought to be back in the infirmary." she tried to smile, but she couldn't. Faroth shook his head.

"And if these visions actually managed to kill you someday?" he asked weakly. "I couldn't forgive myself, all things considering. I don't know what happened between you and Variks, but I'd prefer it if you put things back to normal."

"I can't." She whispered. "This is a bridge that will burn forever, Faroth. More than one."

There was a question in his gaze, but both to her relief and disappointment, he didn't voice it. Part of her wanted him to ask the questions, wanted him to force her to look at herself, wanted him to tell her she was wrong but it would be alright if she just _listened_. Instead, after several moments he shut his eyes with a tired nod, resting his head back against the seat. She took a deep breath. If he was stronger, if Variks had gone to him, the conversation could have gone the same way as it had in her dream.

But it hadn't. She wasn't sure if that was assuring, or frightening. She would have to look back at her list. _Was that a dream or a vision? If the latter, why can I still remember it, why was it different and too accurate at the same time?_ Were the visions starting to leak through into pieces she could remember? If she had more of them, she ought to compare them to what she wrote on the list, thought the list was vague at best. She'd gone over the set of warnings from just before being hit by the sickness; a bunch of nonsense she could only now understand, and even then.

Killing 'Raven'wood made sense, but letting her live? And beware the return of _what_ , exactly? The Disease? And an _obvious_ warning for Faroth, so obvious that it hurt, and she felt so stupid that she'd been so caught up with the whole 'Martin drama' that she'd forgotten to tell him about it.

What else had she written that was so obvious, so dangerous? She would have to study the list again, mark off everything she was _certain_ had already happened. She had yet to actually accomplish changing any of the terrible futures she'd written about, but it was damn well worth trying, if only to avoid another Faroth.

* * *

"Well, this place looks like a bad scene." Trip commented as they came up the ridge. Martin swallowed, trying not to let his face pale as he remembered what had happened here three years ago, as well as three centuries ago. Here was the place his sister had been tortured for half her childhood, a place of pain he'd had, unpleasantly, witnessed firsthand.

"Yeah." he simply agreed, looking up at the faded lettering.

"Hold up, specs; Certech?" the large Titan raised an eyebrow. "I remember correctly, Vanguard sent out a notice to blast any of their facilities to pieces if they were found."

"Don't worry; they know about this place. It's one of the oldest Certech buildings, and it had some pretty nasty security on it. Vanguard uses it sometimes to teach other Guardians what to expect when busting into these places, but I've never been through it." it wasn't entirely a lie; he and Cayde had gone over some of the old protocols in this place, though they'd all been deactivated, as if Certech had left in a hurry. It had been invaluable in providing guidelines for safety in old labs.

But Ikora and Zavala had no idea this place existed. He was surprised no-one from the City had ever found this place before, it wasn't that well hidden. He looked back up at Trip.

Before, he'd figured the dark-skinned man was a force on the battlefield, but in a full set of the latest Raku gear, he looked like a beast of a man that would have made any sensible Fallen Captain wet themselves. He could only imagine what it would look like to have a Guardian like this running down the Darkness with Light crackling, and he was a prime example of his Class.

"Worse comes to worst, we could always scream for help." He suggested helpfully. Trip shook his head with an amused huff.

"No way anyone'd here us out here." he said.

"Well, the Mistbirds might here us. They're helpful." Martin pointed out.

"No way one of them'd fit through that door." he walked up to the rusted entrance, and kicked a piece of debris in. "Ugh, what a mess."

"This place is centuries old, from the Collapse." Trips Ghost flashed into existence, her shell a shining copper color. "Buildings back then were built to last, and very well hidden. I'm surprised this one it so run-down."

"Maybe they were attacked." Martin suggested. _I can easily imagine the early Iron Lords busting a place like this if they ever got wind of what was happening here._ He shuddered slightly as he passed through the door, as memories from his last visit washed over him. "Wheatly, lights?"

"I don't want to!" his own Ghost whined form inside his pocket. He peeked out a little to look up at Martin. "I hate this place!"

"So do I, but I don't want to go in blind!" he huffed.

"Make Trip's Ghost do it!"

Martin let out a sigh and looked at the other two. "Sorry."

"Tourmaline?" Trip shrugged and looked at his copper companion.

"I can do that _rude_ Ghost of yours one better." she cast a pointed one-eyed look at his pocket, and zipped over to a nearby computer on a wall. She scanned it, and the lights sputtered to life, dull and flickering on occasion. Tourmaline spun with a flourish, and flew back to her Guardian." Ta-da!"

"Okay, you go that way," he pointed at the hall he knew led to the white room. He needed Trip here, in case something went wrong. This wasn't a place you wanted to get trapped in, but he didn't want the Titan to notice he was looking for something specific. "And I'll go down that other way. We're looking for the bio-labs, I want to see if there's anything dangerous in there that should be contained. Keep an eye on the floor, it's been known to collapse, and don't mess with any consoles. We don't know what they might trigger."

The last time he had been here, the floor to white room control center had collapsed under the weight of a shrimpy teenager; how could it possible hold up against a fully-armored Titan? _Here's to hoping nothing goes wrong..._ Trip nodded.

"Cool. I'll keep contact with your Ghost." with that, the larger man set off down the hall, which Martin knew lead nowhere near the bio-labs, leaving the young Warlock to briefly seethe in his own guilt. _Lies, lies, lies... and all this snooping and sneaking around behind peoples backs... How much more of it will I have to do before I get the cure?_

Hopefully, not a lot. He set off down the other hall, taking out his holomap. Cayde had, after the ridge incident, scouted out the whole place, and Martin had had Wheatly get it off the Exo's terminal while he was busy. Cayde was lax with the rules, but if he knew Martin was planning to come down here, even for a reason like this, he would have stopped him and gone himself under the basis of the possible danger involved. Just another moment he'd gone behind someone's back... but he had to do this himself. For Heather.

 _Should be over here..._ The lights were even worse down here, barely giving enough illumination for him to see where he was going.

 **"Hey, found some kind of room down here. Got some weird material for walls...looks like someone ate it here a long time ago, beats me. Lots of dried blood."** Martin suppressed a shudder. My _blood._

"Any signs of a weapon being used?" he had to ask normal questions, even if he did know what had happened here.

 **"No... I'm gonna double back, look at some of these other doors."** Martin nodded, before remembering Trip couldn't see him.

"'kay." he map beeped, and he felt excitement fizz in his blood. This was it.

He opened the door. The room was dimly lit like the rest of the base, but it was much more intact. _Because they probably_ do _keep dangerous stuff in here._ There were test boxes, old mas-spectrometers, microscopes, other instruments he would normally have killed for to have in such great condition. but he could never use Certech technology, especially not the very instruments used to study Silverhawk. It would be treachery.

 _They would keep the cure in one of those coolers..._ The syringe he'd seen in the security footage had been loaded with something in a bottle with a red label. The resolution hadn't been good enough for him to see the exact name of the substance, but he would take ever red-labeled bottle in the cooler if he had to.

 **"Oh, dang... Martin, I think I found something."** He had to force Wheatly out of his pocket a little brutally to get him to hack the old cooler padlock. Dejectedly, his Ghost set to the task.

"Yeah? What is it?" he asked.

 **"Not exactly sure... but it looks like a kid's room."** he felt his blood run cold. **"Bed's too small for any adult I know, there's old blouses in here, too. Hairbrush, a couple of ribbons. A little girl, perhaps? Peg her around ten or so?"**

 _Twelve._ Five years of torture. Family dead. Murdered, to wait three centuries for her second chance.

 **"Beats me how anyone could keep a kid in this kind of environment."** Martin clenched his fists.

"Certech, were a cruel and disgusting organization. They were behind the disease; they engineered it to wipe out the Awoken, so they would die in agony. Imprisoning, torturing a child? They probably 'did it for science'." he said through grit teeth, voice seething.

 **"Who said anything about torture?"** The Titan asked.

"Why else would there be blood?" he reasoned, realizing his slip-up. _That was close._

The cooler beeped, and the door popped open. Martin pulled it back... and felt his face pale. _Oh, sweet mother of Crota..._

Inside the whole top rack, were at least thirty red-labeled bottles.

* * *

"So... there." Silverhawk finished, laying upside down in one of the chairs in Tevis' living room. The Nightstalker was looking down at her from where he sat on his couch. Tirtha and Andal were out at the markets, and Tevis hadn't left the Tower since the Tay scare. Cayde was still on edge, and was currently reading and re-reading Ryan's letter like the paper would set on fire if he failed to take in the words properly, pacing up and down the room and nearly tripping on furniture a number of times.

"So this guy's serious? Really serious?" the Exo flipped the paper upside-down as if it would reveal more. "Sunbreaker with the New Monarchy, right? How big's his fireteam? What sort are they?"

"Um, Ryan want's to _date_ me, what's his fireteam got to do with this?" she asked, confused. Cayde was acting weird... well, weird- _er_.

"Well, I d- well _you_ don't want to wind up dating a fellow who hangs out with people in the wrong crowd, now do you? What if his fireteam are a bunch of pervs? Pervs that outnumber you?" he huffed, waving the letter around carelessly as if it were the most obvious logic in the world.

"Who's says I'm going to date him, anyway!" Silverhawk exclaimed indignantly. " _That's_ what this conversation is supposed to be about, I don't know what to do because who knows what could happened, because there are SO many things that could go wrong if I go through with this, but I kinda really want it anyway."

The other two Hunter just stared at her, then glanced at each other.

"And by the way, his fireteam aren't _pervs_ , and it's just two other people." she added as an afterthought.

"I think you should talk this through with _him_." Tevis finally spoke. "The kid obviously knows what he wants, and he seems genuine about it."

Cayde made an odd thoughtful noise, and looked harder at the letter, as if he were trying to shoot lasers out his eyes at it. For some reason, Tevis rolled his eyes at this. Silverhawk awkwardly scooted out of her upside-down position, and curled up with her head on the armrest, one leg swinging off lazily.

"But what if it's _wrong_? What if 'sure, it makes us happy, but it's just too dangerous to continue'? What if he forgets? I mean, he's not Martin, he hasn't spent half his life with me, he _could_ forget to be careful, and then it'll all be too terrible!" she sighed. "I'm not sure if I could live with myself if there _were_ an accident..."

Cayde strode over to her, and crouched with his hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him, and fought the instinct to pull back as she went through the rare experience of an actual hug. With most people that knew about her deathtouch, it was an awkward position, where they had to lean with their heads back to avoid touching her own. But Cayde was safe, and didn't have to take such measures. She flinched slightly as cold metal brushed her forehead.

"Give it a shot." he told her. "Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't... but give him a shot. Even if he _is_ a meaty Titan."

Somehow, coming from her mentor, is sounded like a much better idea then it had previously. Like it could actually be possible. Like there might be hope for... whatever it was that had started between her and Ryan.

That, or this real hug was getting to her head.

* * *

 **Oh, boy, here it comes.**

 **We're only a few days from launch, the hype train is about to crash gloriously when we finally get to stop wondering and start playing.**

 **alienraptor: Wonder whatever happened to that fic... and no, Grayris isn't questioning the Darkness, per say, as she doesn't realize how integrated it is with her life, but she is asking some questions about things she's never considered.**

 **Furious Titaness: Oh, I still haven't figured out how that conversation's going to go. Meh, Grayris is kind of a minor plot detail, but I though she should have more of a role. She didn't really get to far in life in the game, and I wanted to explore a little as to how and why she wanted to abandon whatever house it was she was in. Homecoming was AWESOME!**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: *Gasp* YOU'RE ALIVE! WHERE WERE YOU FIVE CHAPTERS AGO I NEEDED SOMEONE TO FREAK OUT ENTHUSIASTICALLY ABOUT LYSE!**

 **FanOfVariks: Eh, most of the Houses don't even think House Judgement is a thing anymore, they're supposedly extinct. I suppose the kings might, but not a lot of the others aside from the wolves.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: I hoped she was. Yeah, Martin needed a buddy.**

 **Man, it's been a busy summer. I played a lot of destiny for the most of it, I got writers block halfway through this chapter. I was re-inspired and wrote the second half... while crying, because I was up till two in the morning enjoying the final hours of the final Iron Banner, and the weekly reset killed me on the inside.**

 **Then a week later, I went and broke my wrist. Seeing as half my hand was in a cast, my ability to write was limited to the point where it was so slow going I decided to wait until the cast was off to even attempt the next chapter after this one. That was roughly a few days ago, and I'll probably have a huge wave of inspiration once D2 drops, but I'll hold off on updating for a while because... when you have a new game installment out, nobody is reading fanfics. they're playing the game, as poor Amberstar learned when Mass Effect: Andromeda, dropped. So yeah, maybe expect chapter 26 when the new Iron Banner drops for the first time? That seems like an appropriate hour at which to celebrate with an overly-long Authors note, And I'll have had time to write some more chapters.**

 **All that being said, it's good to be back, great to reach the coveted #25, and I can't wait to play some D2! The Arcstrider handles way better than the Bladedancer did, and I think I'm in love. Now to just see what they did to the Nightstalker...**

 **Also, Amberstar has started her Twelve Days of Destiny 2 fic for those of you who haven't noticed. She'll be doing a one-shot a day up until D2 drops, so go check that out if you haven't. Just a warning; her obsession with the Iron Lords still hasn't been satiated, so expect some teary Saladin feels at some point, I don't know the details. I've been busy.**

 **There's also one other thing; In a few chapters, maybe less, Uldren and Sierra are going to find themselves going on a rather nasty adventure. Now, for our little crew in the city, this presents a problem; in the meanwhile, when and if Silverhawk is cured, twenty or so chapters of her just being a normal person is going to get really old after a while. They need something... Guardian-y to do.**

 **There's only one thing I can think of, and that's a Dysfunctional Vault of Glass. But I haven't really decided if that's what I'll do, it's just an option, one I haven't settled on. So, on the tenth, the Poll for naming Andal's sister is going to close, and I'll put up a new one; Dysfunctional VoG, Yes or No. That'll be it. if it's a no, suggestions are appreciated; I don't think you guys would like watching Silver do all that boring stuff for such a long time, anyway.**

 **Next Time: Martin gets cracking, Siverhawk and Ryan attempt to have something called a 'civil conversation', and Cayde, being the responsible mentor that he is, investigates.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	26. Trial and Error

**Quote of the Day:** ** _"Unicorns exist. They're just fat and call themselves Rhinos."_**

* * *

"So... you want my blood for what now?" Silverhawk asked, one eyebrow raised. "In English this time?"

"Genetic studies on the molecular bonding of non-compatible DNA." Martin repeated, slowly, this time. "Humans and Awoken producing fertile offspring is like a Human and a monkey doing the same thing; there's thousands of years of evolution between them, which, in the Awoken's case, happened almost instantaneously. So you've got unstable first generation Awoken genetics, mixed with post-Golden Human-"

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're geeking over my DNA." she raised her hands in surrender. "But if you take too much, I might just have to start hanging garlic in my room for safe measure."

He looked at her, smileing blithely. "Oh, we all know Vampires suck blood for vitamin D because they can't go in the sun directly. I _do_ get out of the lab sometimes, so you have nothing to worry about!"

Gloves on his hands, he carefully rubbed the anesthetic on her arm before quickly slipping the syringe in. Silverhawk looked away with a look of indignant disgust on her face; her typical reaction to any kind of needlework done to the flesh. It was a little ironic, considering she had to inject several varieties of key nutrients directly into her blood every day... another one of the misfortunes of the deathtouch. She couldn't eat fruit, vegetables, anything that was _alive_ , not without the rads that pumped throughout her body frying any nutritional benefit out of them. Anything cooked, most certainly dead, was fine. Everything else? Toast.

"Ugh, needles; so gross." she grimaced. He let a dry smile creep its way onto his face. "You know, you seem different these days. I mean, you _socialized_. Did something happen at the Reef? Something having to do with a certain one-eyed Emissary, perhaps?"

He had to stop the shudder that ran up his body before it reached his hands. Yes it had involved Petra. No... it was not something good like Silverhawk seemed to think it was.

"Uhhh... she's... not interested." he said lamely.

" _Really_?" his sister's tone clearly said she didn't believe a word of it. "During the quest for the cure, she looked a bit smitten with you. You were just doing all that awkward stuff... did you actually talk to her, or is this just you making assumptions again?"

"Oh, we talked it out... uhhh... but it, uh, t-turns out she and F-Faroth..." the lie tasted like acid the moment it left his mouth, and he wanted to run and hide. _How many times will I have to betray people just to get this done?_ He wailed internally. Would there be no end to his _lies_?

" _Faroth_? Really? _That_ guy?" she twisted to look at him incredulously, only to recoil and look away when she caught sight of the needle sticking into her arm. "Dude, I thought she was totally into you! She was perfect! And lets face it; you're _way_ more awesome than Faroth!"

If it were the truth, her words might have made him feel a little better. But it wasn't the truth; it was another, horrible, terrible, awful lie, and it would come back to bite him one day. He smiled weakly, removing the needle.

"All done. You going to talk to Ryan today?" he asked, setting away his kit and dabbing at the insertion point with a bit of cloth as blood welled from the small hole. Hopefully these samples would be enough...

He couldn't risk testing all the different serums on Silverhawk herself; but he could test them on her blood. He could perfect the cure when he found it, finish it in any way that it needed to be finished. Though the problem remained that he still didn't have the lab equipment needed for proper, discreate, testing. He had a plan for that. Another plan that involved being brave for once.

"Uhhh... no. Yes. Maybe." she pulled at her gloves nervously; perhaps a habit she had picked up from his constant sleeve-tugging when he was under duress.

"You should." he urged. _She should get to know Ryan._ If he had known Petra better... he would've been more careful, more afraid, more cautious when she had confronted him. Perhaps then, his arm wouldn't still be hurting like it was. It was important to _know_ a person, no matter what, so there would never be any doubt as to how they would behave.

"Maybe." Silverhawk rubbed the back of her neck. "So, how're you going to test my blood with that cruddy gear you've got in the basement?"

"I'm... uh... g-going to ask an O-Order if I can use their l-labs." oh, the plan sounded to much more _terrifying_ when he said it out loud!

"Really? You sure that's a good idea?" She looked at him incredulously.

"I'm going to be careful. I always am." There was always the risk that in doing this, someone might see the strangeness of Silverhawk's DNA, or some tool would pick up the rads coming from her blood. But he was determined; so close to his goal now, small risks were now necessary. He'd already thrown away so many things in order to get here... he had to succeed. He _had_ to.

"Well... good luck with your bloody science." She stood, and brushed her cloak out. "Literally. I've gotta go, er, talk to a boy. Yikes, I'm going to puke."

He took her by the shoulders, and even though he wasn't sure it was true, he said what he thought was the right thing. "You've got this, Heather! Nothings going to go wrong, just sort it out. It'll be fine; I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

* * *

 _Why_ did he have to say that? As soon as the words left his mouth, he'd had the feeling he would wind up regretting them at some point or another. And here he was; regretting it, as he stood at the halls of the Skycast Order. _Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Don't freak out._

"May I help you?" a russet and silver-plated Exo asked him, a brow plate raised over one of his glowing white eyes. All moisture left Martin's mouth. The _entire Order_ was here, and they were all staring a _him_. He could feel their eyes burning into him. He'd caught them at the start of their day, when the head of the Order had yet to open the doors.

Once, when he was but the tender age of nine, he'd dared to contend with their teacher on the nature of the Jupiter-Io flux tube. She'd had him stand up at her desk, all the way from his nice, safe seat in the back of the class, and explain his reasoning. Alone at the front of the room, with the collective gazes of roughly twenty older teenagers, he hadn't been able to get even one syllable out of his mouth.

His fainting spell in Pre-Quantum Mechanics was the reason his parents had started home schooling him on net courses; how could he ever show his face in public again?

He licked his lips, tried to say something- _anything_ -but now, like then, the only thing to escape his mouth was a sound like a broken dog toy, before he unwillfully fell backwards into a dead faint.

It seemed curing Silverhawk's deathtouch would take more than one kind of trial and error.

* * *

Ryan lay on his stomach on the park bench, his face buried in one arm while the other dangled off the edge. His Ghost was still playing Elvin Bishop's 'Fooled Around and Fell In Love' in his earpiece. _I need to stop listening to this song before I become it._ But it was true; he'd gotten foolish, and what do you know, he'd wound up falling in love.

With a girl he couldn't touch, and he simply couldn't stop himself. He let out a heavy sigh as his nerves jangled around in his gut once more. This was it. Make or break. He wondered what she thought. He wondered if his note was too cheesy. Most of all, he wanted to scream and run away in terror, because in hindsight, that note was awfully cheesy, and if he had the chance to relive writing it, his knew his courage would have failed him after the first sentence.

 _I fooled around and fell in love_

 _I fooled around and fell in love, since I met you baby,_

 _I fooled around and fell in love,_

 _I fooled around and fell in love..._

"You know, if you were going for pathetic, you really topped the cake." He started so violently, he fell off the bench, and when he looked up, there she was, looking down on him, fedora, sunglasses and all.

"Well, hi, wonderful weather we're having. I wasn't moping." He said nervously.

"Dude, that's exactly what moping looks like." She lifted one eyebrow incredulously.

"No it's not. And I'm not doing it anymore, so you can't say I'm doing it." He jumped up, and brushed himself off, face growing hot.

"Then why were you all melty on the bench, then?" she challeneged.

" _Melty_? How can a _person_ be melty?"

* * *

"Cayde, what are you doing?" the Exo looked ready to jump out of his plates at the sound of Tevis' voice.

"Tevis, by the Light don't sneak up on me like!" he hissed.

"Answer the question." the Nightstalker sighed. This didn't look good. "Why are you in a tree, with binoculars, in broad daylight?"

"Shhh, hey! You're going to blow my cover!" Cayde snapped.

"Cayde, it's winter; the tree is bare. _Everyone_ can see you." he told his friend witheringly. Indeed, people would occasionally point out the Hunter and then hurry on their way, casting him bewildered glances over their shoulders.

"I'm _investigating_! If you have to know." the Bladedancer buffed his knuckles on his chest, before bringing his binoculars back up to his face. "I mean, sure I encouraged Silverhawk, but there's _got_ to be something wrong with this guy. _Nobody's_ mister perfect. I mean, what if he's one of those types to snort Hive chitin powder in his off time?"

"Cayde, nobody sniffs Hive chitin except the Thanatonaughts." the strange warlocks thought that introducing odd stuff to their bodies would give them prophetic visions. _Wonder if they ever prophesize their own hospital bills..._ He leaned out from behind the tree trunk to look at Silverhawk and Ryan... just in time to see the former go boneless on a park bench. The latter shook his head, clearly in disagreement, before going limp and falling to the ground, and then raising his arms, looking at her, as if to emphasis some sort of demonstration. "Though I will admit, something weird is clearly going on here."

"What the heck are they doing, anyway?" Cayde muttered.

"Having a fainting contest?" Tevis guessed wryly as the Titan and Huntress proceeded to repeat the process in what seemed to be the oddest argument Tevis had ever witnessed. He would know, this was _not_ how most couples hashed out their feelings for one another. "It certainly fits Silverhawk's style."

"I bet he's trying to bribe her with something. Free couch? New bed? Embarrassing photos he got his hand on somehow?" Tevis cast a withering glance up at his friend.

"Cayde, he's not minion of the Darkness, he's a prospective boyfriend." he chided.

"Who says they're not one in the same!?" the Exo snapped. "I mean, this is my d- _apprentice_ we're talking about! _My_ protege! I mean, do you really think _Brask_ would've let _us_ run off with the _wrong kind of woman_? Tell you what, if she turned out to be a sleeze ball, he'd have thrown her far as Shaxx could!"

"Are you saying that would throw Ryan as far as Shaxx could?"

"Maybe. I don't know yet. He's _good_." Silverhawk and Ryan had stopped doing the flop, and now seemed to be talking... while laying in strange positions, having not righted themselves. "Buuuut I kind of want to punch him into orbit..."

"Kh..." Tevis sighed. _I hope_ I'm _not like this when Emmira hits Heather's age..._ They'd finally got confirmation on the gender of his and Tirtha's second child; a girl, and they were already in debate about her name. 'Emmira' was his favorite.

"Cayde, you're taking this a little too far." he said. "Maybe instead of spying on them, you should just wait and _ask_ how it went next time you see Silverhawk. She's not the type to lie. And even if she was, we both know she's a terrible liar."

"Yeah, but- Thrall spit, she's coming this way! If she asks, _I'm not here_!" He proceeded to try and hide himself deeper in the branches, quite unsuccessfully, as Silverhawk bounded over in their direction, looking for all the world she'd just won the lottery. Back near the bench, Ryan looked both elated, and like he didn't know what to do with himself. _Oh, dear._

"Cayde Cayde Cayde Cayde Cayde Cayde!" she spurted hyperactivity, looking at the tree like she could see right through it's bare branches, and ignoring Tevis completely. "We did it, we worked it out! I HAVE A FREAKING BOYFRIEND IT'S SO NORMAL! Well, actually, we're going to go on a strike and see how it works out, but WE'RE AS GOOD AS ESTABLISHED RIGHT NOW!"

"That's awesome!" Cayde exclaimed, his voice containing an odd, high-pitched hitch. "What's the assignment?"

"Zavala's got a this HUGE HUMUNGO Face Spider infestation on one of our Jovian outposts, like, we're talking FACE SPIDERS AS BIG AS YOU"RE ENTIRE BODY AND I"M SORRY FOR YELLING BUT I'M REALLY EXCITED RIGHT NOW OKAY BYE I CAN'T WAIT ANY LONGER! Oh, hi Tevis. Bye, Tevis." with that, she twirled, ran back to Ryan, grabbe dhim by the hand, and ran off, practically dragging the near-comatose-with-giddyness boy with her.

With that, Cayde fell out of the tree in the closest to a dead faint an Exo could get, in very close resemblance to the odd flopping Ryan anbd Silverhawk had just done. Tevis strode over and looked over him worriedly.

"Cayde?" he inquired his friend's blank upwards stare nervously.

"What am I going to do Tev?" he asked. The Nightstalker shooked his head with a sigh.

"There's nothing _to_ do, Cayde. They fooled around and fell in love, is all."

* * *

 **Yup, I was listening to that song this whole chapter.**

 **Furious Titaness: No, he found a hay stack with a needle in it, unfortunatly. Knowing poor Martin, he'll prick himself with that needle by accident. EVERYTHING YOU LOVE ABOUT EARTH IS _GONE GONE GONE GONE_ , BABY!**

 **alienraptor: Were you pleased, or disappointed with the end product? Yeah, he's going to be getting a bit braver as we progress.**

 **jsm1978: I do miss the days, sometimes, when I had less characters to deal with... I mean, chapters are getting e bit noisy with all these plots and pieces, I'm sure you've noticed. Nah, Amber writes differently. Not as much detail... and she fails to capitalize things sometimes. Besides, she's been a bit... absent from writing in general lately, I'm sure you've noticed(I thing she's losing her fire when I comes to this site).**

 **Fan Of Variks: I've said it before, I'll say it again, even now knowing how exciting D2 is; I will _not_ be covering Destiny 2 in this series. There is just no place for certain characters, and I'm sure you would all rather live in a world where Martin _doesn't_ get killed by a SIVA-zombie Sierra Rogers. As far-fetched as that sounds, I _have_ given _some_ thought into what a Dysfunctional D2 would look like, and that's what happens in my head. While it would be fun and interesting to write about little Andal all grown up and fighting the Red Legion, there are just too many things to explain, there would be too many characters to juggle, and, quite frankly, I don't want to stretch this series so far out it becomes repetitive. This series will _end_ with the Taken King. That being said, if I ever do decide to do a separate fic afterwards about D2, I would probably write it after the tetrahedrons of death come for us all in-game, so I can write proper foreshadowing.**

 **Whew, been quite the month, hasn't it? I'm having a lot of fun with D2... so much, in fact, that sadly I have neglected my writing. Now, don't sit there thinking I do nothing but game all day; I've got this thing called 'real life', and it hates me. My muse still hasn't recovered from weeks with a broken wrist, and real life has all the dispositions of a cat; it likes to play with it's food. That food is me, in this case.**

 **Sorry this chapter was so short after such a long wait, but all the stuff that happens in it hopefully makes up for it. We'll be getting some Saladin stuff next time, so yeah.**

 **By the way, the poll for Dysfunctional Vault of Glass has gone live! Thanks to everyone who voted on the name for Andal's sister, and special thanks to everyone who sent in suggestions! In the end, though, the winner was, as you can see in this chapter, 'Emmira'. Be sure to vote for this poll it actually is quite important, and I do have a bit of a time crunch for the decision. This is one of very few things I'm unsure of, and the next ten chapter may or may not depend on your influence; yet another reason I'm slowing down chapters. Because once I reach the point of no return... well, it's the point of no return, and I don't want to put something in this fic that nobody, or too few people, want to see.**

 **Next Time: Saladin faces rough times, Martin tries again, and the Jovian face spiders don't know whats about to hit them...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	27. Enunciate, Communicate, Realize

_**Quote of the Day:**_ ** _"I tell my kids it's important that they learn pointless algebra, because someday they might have to help their kids learn pointless algebra."_**

* * *

Saladin's boots crunched in the snow as he made his way to the memorial site. He had been here only a few times before. At first, after the battle... he couldn't bear. He didn't want to the place where it happened. But now... now he had to see it. Now that everything he thought he'd known about that day had been warped out of perspective, now that established events were shifting in his mind, now that words spoken years ago now rang in his ears like a hideous tinnitus.

 _"She killed them... sh-she k-killed them..."_ He closed his eyes as the monument came into view, and he plunged his hand into one pocket. After all these years, he still carried the rings with him. They'd wanted him to deliver them for the wedding. The rings neither of them would ever wear, now. And so he carried the burnt, melted remnants of the engagement rings found in the snow, found with Haakon, who'd been clutching hers as if it were a lifeline when Saladin had found him, bleeding in the snow.

He'd always thoughts Haakon's weak-voiced words had been referring to Ashraven killing the Fallen. That the spectacular display of fire on the mountain had been her saving the city at cost to her own life. Yet now... now he had a horrible feeling about what 'she' and 'them' actually meant. 'She' was actually someone else. 'She' was a monster he had never seen. Or was she? He wasn't certain of anything anymore.

So he stood in the now, in front of a monument to the lives of the Iron Wolves. A nine-branched bronze tree, placed in the middle of the battlefield. The snow covered the scars on the rocks. Someone was lying. One of them was lying, and he didn't know who to believe. He couldn't ask them. He could only dig deeper.

 _For nearly nine years, I've thought they all died in battle against the Fallen. Now I learned they may have died in battle against something else entirely..._ And Lakshmi still refused to recall the 'recovery efforts' for the War Cult's long-lost resources, even after their talk.

 _Why now, after all this time?_ He had a terrible feeling about this. That poor Hunter, Rogers, little Andal and Della tay, _Lyse Ravenwood_ , all within a long, tiring, disastrous week, and he was expected to think the Future War Cult's actions weren't related? So what if it had been in the works before all this happened, it was too convenient. But he knew he couldn't simply just go raising hell in the public for the War Cult's disrespect of the battleground, disrespect for the burial site of his friends. Oh, he would make it difficult for them, but he couldn't draw too much attention.

He was driving deeper and deeper into what he thought might be the same territory Ashraven had been in, it was time to start burning away the brush and brambles that got in the way of his intended path. He could count on Shiro, he'd already asked the Exo to keep an eye out for anything off while he was away at the peak. He hadn't asked Saladin why he was being tasked with this, but he was doing to anyway. It was a mantle of trust that he did so, and Saladin was grateful beyond words for the support of his friend. Shiro hadn't been the same after he'd gone digging around near that ridge place some years ago, but at least nothing had changed in that respect; that unquestioning loyalty was still in place... the double-edged sword kind that Saladin couldn't help but feel slightly guilty for exploiting.

But if he was going to go weeding out these vines of secrets... he was going to need a knife. And he anticipated on borrowing Shiro's.

 _Your war is starting again._ He thought. _But the truth about the instigator eludes me..._

* * *

"So... you want to use our lab?" The Exo from before, who's name turned out to be Fox-8... and who also turned out to be the head of the order.

"Y-yeah." Martin twisted his left sleeve with his right hand. He sat in a room alone with Fox, and though he no longer had so many pairs of eyes on him, and still had a cool rag draped around his shoulders, he was still felt horrible and understandably horrifically embarrassed. "S-sorry ab- about the... you know..."

"Everyone has their weakness." Fox nodded understandingly, then tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. "Correct me if I'm wrong; you're that frantic fellow who first confirmed the illness in the Reef, hmm?"

"I-I-I w-wouldn't say _frantic_... uhh..." Martin stuttered, face heating up.

"Yes, charging into the vanguard war room screaming your head off about an outbreak of a genetic variant of the disease." Fox nodded wryly."That seems frantic to me."

Martin swallowed hard. This was difficult. And it was getting more difficult, he was struggling just to look Fox in the eyes. After his fainting spell in the hall, things were not looking up for him. His fate-and by extension, maybe Silverhawk's- were in this Exo's hands.

"What kind of experiments were you hoping to run?" Fox folded is hands in his lap.

"Chemical tests on blood." he snapped off. He'd been practicing a very careful explanation; he needed a balance between truth and cover story, these were fellow Warlocks he was working with, not Titan grunts or trigger-happy Hunters. "It's nothing dangerous, it's just... it's personal. The blood samples have a... a virus in them, and I-I just want to see how it will react to a few different formulas."

Fox's eyes scanned him up and down, picking him apart, and he swallowed again, nearly ripping his sleeve with his thumb.

"Do have _any_ kind of coping mechanism other than _that_?" the Exo gestured witheringly to Martin's hands. He tried to choke back a hurt expression, and planted his palms firmly on his knees. Variks had never been bothered by his fidgeting. Silverhawk and his mother had never bothered by it, either, save gentle admonishments about ruing his cloths. "Never mind. As you aren't part of the order, I can't give you free roam. But, I could give you ten hours. Ten hours, and three days to use them. _Only_ that."

"Y-yes, I can work with th-that." he tried not to melt on the spot. He'd gotten ten hours. Three days to use them. Could he possibly test all those samples in ten collective hours? He had to try. He _had_ to try.

"Yes. Just be sure to find a new nerve outlet; that little sleeve thing is unbearable." Fox waved him off. "The last thing I need you to do is set our new member off; he's unbearable as it is."

"What's wrong with him?" Martin asked. Could it be another fish out of water case? Oh, he would love to not be the only weird one in the lab; it would take attention off of him.

"Ikora sent him to the wrong order; he doesn't understand, if he wanted to study Vex so badly, he should have joined a tech-based order!" the Exo rubbed his forehead plate with one hand. "Now please _go_ ; I have to deal with all the ruckus you started in the hall."

"Y-yeah." Martin jumped out of the chair, throwing the rag off and nearly tripping in his haste to leave the room. "S-s-sorry. Sorry... sorry."

He very nearly slammed the door behind him, and he practically charged past the other Warlocks in the order, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor, heart pounding in his ears and heat reddening his face.

He'd done it. He'd secured a lab. He should be happy, not terrified. He needed to _man up_! It wasn't like he was _joining_ the order! He was just... borrowing their lab, for a good cause! So what if Fox couldn't deal with his fidgeting, he was going to cure Silverhawk!

 _In three days or less..._ _or not at all!_ He debated telling her about it now or later as he made his way back to their apartment. On one hand, he didn't want to get her excited when he didn't have any results yet. On the other hand... he was tired of sneaking around. He was sick of lying. He just wanted to be open, nervous Martin again instead of the insidious, secretive person he felt like he'd become in recent weeks.

* * *

 **Two Days Later:**

 **Outpost Omega, Chalybes Region, Io**

 **Operation Arachnophobia Pyromania**

"Are you ready for this?" Ryan asked as he set down the binoculars. "I mean, this is your last chance to back out of our relationship. Cuz the moment we go in there..."

"We're going to stop caring about what the heck the world thinks?" she offered.

"Yeah, pretty much." The young Titan shrugged.

"Who cares? You guys are perfect for each other." Alan-8, in all his mis-matched glory, hefted the large flamethrower. "Are we going to go fry some bugs or what?"

The couple rolled over, snatched up their own weapons, and charged them.

"Lets go blazing." Ryan declared. Andyosa groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"I hate you people..."

Carefully, they made their way down the rocks. Jupiter shone bright and eirry in Io's sky, and down below, the old outpost shone like a beckoning Halloween house. It was cold, dark, wet; all the planetary conditions that Face Spiders loved. The Guardian's mission was to burn out the major nest site in the Chalybes Region, which was instrumental in mapping and monitoring the Jupiter-Io flux tube. It had gone dark several days ago, meaning the operating crew was more than likely dead...

And that the whole place was probably looking like something out of Martin's wort nightmares. Hence why she'd chosen to leave him behind, he'd been through enough this past year without this. She really wished he would see someone about his anxiety problems, they'd been getting worse and worse since the Reef.

"Has anyone realized there are four of us?" Silverhawk tried to start conversation as the picked their way down. "And we look like we're wearing proton packs?"

"I call Venkmen." Alan puffed.

"Stanz!" Silverhawk waved her hand in the air. "Andy?"

"Leave me out of your stupid game." the Warlock huffed past them.

"Well that means you gotta be Winston!" Ryan called after her. "I'm already Egon! And you came late! Nobody want's to be Winston! Andy! ANDY! YOU SURE YOU WANT TO BE WINSTON!?"

"Shut up!" she yelled back at him.

"She's just jealos 'cause you're Egon." Alan clapped him on the shoulder.

"Dude, we're the spiderbusters. The facebusters. The face-spider-busters. Nah, that doesn't work." Silverhawk shook her head. "Not. Blazing."

None the less, when they came to the front door, and Ryan kicked it in, revealing the gauntlet of webs and over-sized face Spiders before them, she let out the strangest battle cry ever heard in the Jovians...

"WHO YA GONNA CALL!? FACEBUSTERS!" she and the others pulled the triggers on their flamepacks, and fire poured out into the dark like dragon's breath. Webs and Face Spiders burned before the licking tongues of orange, the plumes of fire and the hungry roar of both the flames and the Guardians behind them.

"Burn, baby, burn!" Alan cried, near hysterical with laughter.

"ALL OF YOU GROW UP ALREADY!" Andyosa yelled as she turned up the heat, specifically on a spider the size of her torso that had tried to rush Ryan.

"What fun is that!?" Silverhawk laughed. Burning up a Face Spider nest wasn't the weirdest thing she'd done all year, and sure, they were less of a strike team and more of a glorified exterminator crew, and sure, she would be away from Martin for the next two days at least(hopefully the City wouldn't blow up while she was away), but otherwise, she was having fun!

She just hoped Martin had found her note. She'd left it on the table, next to a plate of 'please forgive me for adventuring without you' waffles. At least he'd probably be finished with his weird blood project by the time she got back.

She really was having fun. She glanced at Ryan, and returned his manic grin as they laid waste to the Face Spiders of Io. It was probably the strangest first date ever to happen in the history of the universe, but it was great! _He_ was great. And spending this time together... it only made her more certain she'd made the right choice.

 _"Just because you can't touch... doesn't mean you should never be happy."_ Ryan's words still rang in her ears from their conversation at the plaza. _"If you think you don't deserve happy, think again; I've never met anyone who deserves happy more than you do. And... uh... I-I wouldn't complain if i was part of that happy."_

So here they were. Happy, happy, happy, burning Face Spiders with Ryan's fireteam.

"Hey Alan, where'd you get the paint for that armor?" she called. She just had to know, he was like a walking 'someone threw a grenade into the paint aisle'.

"Stole it from Levante! Had Ryan throw it all over me!" he replied. She liked Alan. Andyosa could use some work... but, she thought she'd done well with Uldren(even if he threatened to kill her if he ever saw her again), so she was holding out hope she could get that Warlock to loosen up yet! It would have to happen, if she ever took Martin with them; she didn't want him to have to deal with a disagreeable Warlock through a mission, after all.

When she got back, she was going to treat her brother to the most relaxing day of his life, even if it killed him! He just seriously needed to unwind!

 _And there I am, worrying about Martin again! I'm supposed to be having fun with Ryan, not worrying... that's Martin's job, is to worry... But he's the one who needs worrying about! UGH!_

Why did things need to be so complicated when they could be so simple? Like burning face spiders. Yeah.

She resumed her manic grin with a manic laugh. Burning face spiders was simple, and awesome. Not complicated at all.

Simple.

* * *

 **Yeah, I am SO SORRY guys! I plan on doing another update at Christmas to make up for how late this is!**

 **Now, before I go on to replying to reviews... I'd like to take a moment to discus the total vitriol that's been poisoning our community lately. To everyone who's flaming, hating, and raging at Destiny and Bungie in general, I have three words for you:**

 **Remember Mass Effect.**

 **Andromeda shipped as a glitchy, bugged-out, all-around bad scene, filled with game-breaking bugs, creepy bugs, a nasty matchmaking system for multiplayer, and loose ends. The fandom-correction, the fandom that all pre-ordered with high hopes and dreams- was seriously disappointed, and raged continuously. Now, after a few months of patches, Bioware just... gave up. There was no pleasing the players, so they packed Mass Effect up, canceled all the DLC's, and 'put the series on ice'. In other words, the community was left stumped and aghast as to 'how could this happen', and 'why are they doing this'.**

 **And right now, I'm seeing something scarily similar in the Destiny community; when it first launched, everybody loved this game, and how it fixed the historically bad story delivery of Destiny, how there was so much more in the vanilla game than there was in vanilla D1... and now? Now, I'm shocked, I'm really am, at how determined the player base is to see Bungie 'pull a Bioware'. Because that's what they'll do; they're the pilot of a crashing plane, and instead of encouraging said pilot, the passengers are all yelling, cursing, and calling the pilot trash.**

 **Not helping. Please guys, I don't want another Bioware; have bad decisions been made? Yes, but newsflash: No game is perfect. You could argue that the original Mass Effect trilogy didn't have the best animation it could have, but that didn't matter for the people who really loved the games. You could argue that the D2 endgame is lackluster, but as a hardcore... i think we're all just suffering some jetlag; in D1 we had progressed tot he point where we had four raids, trials, loads of strike playlists, sparrow racing, and a bunch of other stuff that took hard work to design. Be patient, fellow players; this is still year one of D2. D1 was way worse in vanilla! At least Bungie are TRYING to learn from their mistakes; even if it's not one thing, it's another. They fixed the storytelling; that's good. Now, lets give them a gentle nudge back in the direction of endgame.**

 **You catch more flies with honey.**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Yup! Still can't believe I nailed it that Cayde has a 'dad' side to him... Noticed your new fics, by the way; just gotta say, that's a really interesting idea for the mass Effect one, and you really nailed it with Asher Mir and his fireteam in Losing Time. Keep it up!**

 **alienraptor: Iron banana, lol. Like I said; it's still year one. Lets see where it takes us.**

 **DoomDragon2: Well, TROLOLO BACK!**

 **DisobeyedBowl6: Nope! Totally alive, despite what things might seem like! He's trying to, he just has chronic anxiety(for those of you who haven't noticed). I think the story is okay; definitely more than what vanilla D1 had, and at least with a clean slate they can bring old stuff back in an improved manner(crosses fingers for permanent Sparrow Racing playlist).**

 **MaybeALittleBorken: *Hugs* your reviews are still awesome, even if they're late!**

 **Furious Titaness: Lol. Ah, the 'trying to write the first chapter' phase. the hardest of them all. I look forwards to reading it! Get it out soon!**

 **DoomDragon2: PAPAYA!**

 **DoomDragon2: Your patience has been rewarded.**

 **Am I the only one who thought the Curse of Osiris boss looked EPIC!? Am I also the only one who want's to throw looney toons Vance off the nearest Vex spire!? Can I shout!?**

 **Seriously, though, he's insane! Like, I think he's on crack, or something! SILVERHAWK is saner than Vance!**

 **Next Time: Martin presents his finest work, Silverhawk tries to contain herself, and troubling news from the Reef might just change everything for the worst...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	28. Bleed For A Touch

**Quote of the Day:** ** _"So the earth goes around the sun, and every four years it does it wrong? That's... not comforting."_**

* * *

"Well, I'll get the report to command." Ryan said ad they walked through the hangar. It was even busier than usual today. "Because I'm nice, and I don't believe in torture. Your welcome."

"Aww, thanks buddy!" Alan gave his friend a pat on the back. His Ghost suddenly flashed in next to him.

"Alan, they're call us in. Alphabetically, so it's probably Ikora." she told him.

"West?" Silverhawk asked her own Ghost.

"Nothing from the Vanguard for us, but Martin is really excited about something; he's been messaging since we landed." he told her, voice slightly wobbly. Like he'd seen a ghost... and not a friendly one. He'd been acting odd since before they landed; seh reminded herself to look into that later.

"Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes." she shrugged.

"Yes, please don't hurry." Andyosa sneered sarcastically, rolling her eyes before shoving past them and striding towards the plaza.

"Who put ants in her hair?" Alan asked rhetorically.

"Technically, it was a caterpillar, and for goodness sake, it was three years ago!" Ryan gasped. "So would you people stop holding it over me!"

"Uh-huh." Alan crossing his arms. His Ghost made a small cough, and he rolled his eyes as she floated towards the exit. "Well, see ya, Romeo!"

"Go chuck a knife at something!" the Titan shot back. He glanced at Silverhawk. "No offense to Hunters intended."

"Yup!" she chirped. "So... as far as first dates go... I guess that wasn't bad."

"First date!?" he squawked. "The contest of wits and un-manners didn't count!?"

"Nope, because we were playing around _trying_ to get kicked out!" she told him cheerily. "So now I can tell everyone that my first date involved burning out a Face Spider nest!"

"Kind of a weird thing to have as a first date..." He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, looking a little embarrassed. "My first date ever was just a typical 'flowers and dinner' thing."

"Poor soul!" she placed a hand over her heart. "Your first date was completely average and normal, with a side order of repetitive typical-ness!"

"'Typical-ness'? I don't think that's a word." he chastised, though he was grinning all the same.

"Well, I said it, it came out of my mouth, I could probably write it on a piece of paper, so technically, it's classified as a word!" she declared. "Now, if you excuse me, my Titan in shining New Monarchy advertisement armor, I need to go see my brother before he spams Westley into cybernetic oblivion!"

"Fare well, then, my becloaked maiden in favor of eye-murdering crimson headwear!" he took her hand, and kissed it. "My heart burns for the moment we meet again, be it Crucible or-"

"OH, would you PLEASE!" Blaze flashed in and yelled at his Guardian. "And we're getting an all-call for 'best pilots. I know they don't meant you; probably me, but VANGUARD HALL, NOW!"

With that, the copper Ghost flew off. Ryan gawked, pointing in the direction his companion had gone in, looking shocked and generally boggled his own Ghost would lash out like that.

"He still hates me?" She asked. Her boyfriend(yikes what a scary concept, but totally awesome and normal at the same time) nodded in silence. "Well, hang in there!"

She clapped him on the shoulder, and skipped towards the exit. The hanger was _really_ busy today! _All-call for all good pilots? Wonder what's that all about..._ She was a decent pilot herself... she wondered when or if she'd get tagged. Westley had only mentioned the message from Martin.

Unbeknownst to her, her Ghost had gotten a message from the Vanguard, from Cayde. _'Get settled, and report in as soon as you can. Zavala declared situation Alfa Romeo Bravo Golf'._ This was very worrying; 'Romeo' was only used if the Reef was involved. 'Alfa', of course, meant a crisis. 'Golf' typically meant Guardians were already involved, or had been present at the source of the incident. But the use of 'Bravo' was most worrying; it meant a member of high-ranking commander, from any faction, was involved. In this particular usage, it meant that a member of Reef hierarchy might be in danger.

But Martin's message, which had come first, had shocked Westley to the core, so much so, he didn't trust himself to speak. There were... simply no words. And no question that they should go home, right now. Before seeing the Vanguard. She had to know, and he certainly didn't trust himself to reveal it here in the hanger; he'd outwardly freak out, and then Silverhawk would freak out, and then everything would be a mess.

 _'I found a cure for the deathtouch.'_ That was all the Warlock had said. The problem that had plagued his Guardian ever since he'd first revived her... the problem he wished he'd been strong enough to fix.

Westley had always wondered what had gone wrong that day. The deadly energy that he hadn't been able to filter out of her body during the revival process. He'd been afraid that if he tried harder to remove it, something would go wrong, and her body would form, but she would be dead. That he might not be able to save her. But what if he'd tried? What if he _had_ been able to remove it, what if he'd been so over-cautious, he'd ruined a child's life? Ruined his _Guardian's_ life? What had he done wrong? Was there anything he could have done?

Those were the questions that had plagued him for years, a guilt he could never shake off. And here was Martin, _bless that Martin_ , he'd actually done it! This was no fluke, no experiment, no assumption; the Warlock would cut no corners with something so important. _The blood! All that blood he took!_ It all made sense now!

"Geeze Louise! What's gotten into everybody!" Silverhawk exclaimed, hunching her shoulders and tipping her fedora lower, guarding the exposed skin of her face a little more as she pushed through the crowd of Guardians rushing to and fro. The elevator was a subsequent nightmare, as to be expected in this situation, and she considered taking a side trip to the Vanguard to ask what was going on. But the state of the residential district knocked that thought out of her head.

It was virtually empty. _Uh, creeepyyyy!_

She strode hastily towards the apartment she and Martin shared with their foster mother. _She'll be back soon, her patrol post on venus should be over any day now._ Maybe sooner, if the state of the Tower was any indication. At least her door wasn't ajar with tumbleweeds and spiderwebs all over the place... that would be _too_ cliche and creepy!

She opened the door to find it looking like nobody was home, though.

"Martin! My date was awesome!" She announced. She went over to the couch and flung herself carelessly into it. "You find my note? Sorry to leave you out, bu the whole place was FILLED with face spiders, you would've hated it! But burning them to a crisp was fun, though! Martin!? Waffle buddy?"

"I'm here." his voice called from his room, voice sounding tired. She relaxed _Nope! No crisis, not right here!_

"West said you were messaging? What's up; genetically modified ferret infestation?" she asked airily. "Whole Tower's in an uproar about something, so make it quick, Cayde might need me."

"I uhh... I lied about why I needed your blood." He admitted, coming out. He looked like he hadn't slept in days; his hair was messier than usual, his eyes were bloodshot, and the only good thing about his appearance was that he seemed to have finally ditched his sling while she was gone. She frowned.

"Okaaaaaay... I better not be right about those genetically modified ferrets." she tried to joke. He looked like he seriously needed some humor right now."If you made human ferrets I'll be seriously disappointed in you, because that's creepy, and a really irresponsible use of _my_ blood-"

"I can cure the deathtouch." he blurted. Why was his heart pounding? This was what she wanted, and what he'd worked towards for years now... how could that tiny voice in the back of his mind be asked 'would she want the cure'? She'd been living with it for over half her life; a life it had subsequently ruined. So why, why was there that doubt?

Silverhawk shot to her feet. Westley appeared. Her mouth was open, but her shades were still on, making it that much harder to see her face, and her expression. He was starting to think it had been a bad idea keeping his search a secret from her, even if he hadn't wanted her to worry. And some-no, _all_ \- of the thing's he'd done up until now were things that would have made her worry, _especially_ after what happened during the Wolf Rebellion.

"You... you what?" she choked out. She couldn't process his words. Her brain was asking 'how', it was screaming for answers, it wanted to know why she wasn't screaming, for joy or... something else? Terror? Terror that it wouldn't work, or terror of change? Change from a life of misery? Did that even make sense?

"I-I went looking, at the Certech facility."

"YOU _WHAT_!?" her heart pounded in terror. The most dangerous place in existence!? A place she never wanted Martin to ever be near again after the Ridge Incident?

"I found their labs, and I took all their chemicals. I tested them on your blood until I found the one that canceled out the radioactive binds to your DNA, and I destroyed all the chemicals that failed." for once, his stutter was gone, and his voice came out clear. But his hand still shook when he lifted the vial. "The end result is this."

There were only 75 milliliters in it. He'd gotten halfway through the stolen Certch supplies when he finally found it- and it was a good thing, too. He'd nearly run out of blood samples, and his time in the labs had almost run out(as had his patience; if he ever had to work with Asher again, he _swore_ , he was going to walk into an room of uncontained pathogens and _make sure_ he got sick).

"How..." she breathed,"How do we use it?"

"I don't know. I don't know the exact ratio of cure to contamination. The required dose could be two milliliters, or ten. I need to test it- on you. A small dose of one milliliter is the safest thing I can think of that might have enough effect to get the gist of the ration I need." he explained. He still couldn't tell if she was happy or not.

"Do it." it nearly sounded like an order. So he did it. He took a one milliliter syringe and did it. He screwed on the adapter, filled it, and Silverhawk removed her armor, without bothering to put on the gloves that usually went with most her shirts. He was the one who put on gloves, and applied a local anesthetic. Funny, how he'd done this just a few days ago to take her blood...

"I'm sorry I lied." He choked out. And he was sorry for so much more, too. He stuck the needle through her skin, and injected.

"It's okay." She looked away from the needle, as usual. She took a deep breath. "How do we tell if it worked? I don't feel any different..."

"I need to time you." He strode over to the kitchen table and took an orange from the fruit bowl. In his other hand, he held a timer. "Catch."

Her hand shot out in an automatic Hunter reflex as he tossed the orange fruit to her. But she gasped as she caught it- with wonder, and shock, and a whole new spectrum of emotions she'd never had in combination with one another before. Why had these been such an emotional past couple of weeks for her? She was just holding a freaking _fruit_!

But she could feel the pockmarks in the orange skin. It had a rubbery texture, sort of squishy, and the spot the stem had been cut off was rough and scratchy. The orange wasn't withering. It was in her hand, her bare hand, and it wasn't withering. She clapped her free hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. There was something _alive in her hand_. Alive. Not dead, not dying. ALIVE!

And then it withered. It died. And it took all her self control not to break down over a _fruit_. She sunk to the floor, on her knees, dropping the crinkled remains on the floor. Martin's hand was on her back in an instant.

"It was fifteen seconds." he told her, voice strained. "I-I don't know how long it will take me t-to figure out how much will reverse your condition completely, we don't know what an overdose will do-"

He broke off when she jumped up, pulled him close, and put her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I love you you freaking-freaking-freak-freaking... waffle-eater!" she cried. She counted to fifteen frantically in her head. Martin clamped his hands to her back, and she felt him shake. She felt his skin warm against her arm-there was a pulse beneath that skin- his breath was hot on her cheek, some of his hair tickled her face. There was no awkward head tilting, no hesitation, no strange positioning to prevent a fatal accident.

This was a real, bona fide hug. And on the other end, Martin felt every doubt melt away, and he let the tears fall freely; this was it. All the lies, the secrets, the tricks, the blackmail, all the terrible things he'd done, the things that made him sick and interrupted his sleep; _this_ was what he'd done them for. This was... this was him, hugging his sister. And it was all he'd ever wanted, even if it was cut painfully short by the fatality time limit.

"Heather..." Westley said softly as the adoptive siblings broke away. The Ghost seemed lost for words. She put her hand on his shell, lip quivering.

"Little stinker!" she choked out, trying to wide away her tears. Martin rubbed a place on his arm where their skin had touched, as if to placate an echo of the sensation. "Next time, tell me!"

"Well, I could hardly freak you out where everybody in the hangar could see." he told her. She grinned up at him.

The door burst open; it was Cayde. "GUYS! I've been calling you for five minutes now! Five whole minutes!"

"Cayde, Martin found a cure for the-"her excited explanation was cut short by ranting.

"We have a code alfa rango bravo whatever, the QUEEN is giving Zavala these death looks over vid call, and-" the Exo's rant owas cut off by Martin.

"Queen?" he asked. The Bladedancer pointed at him.

"Oi! Don't interrupt me!" He ordered.

"Cayde, what's going on?" Silverhawk demanded. She had the best news of the century, her and Martin probably looked a mess and yet cayde hadn't noticed, and He wouldn't stop talking long enough to notice, or for her to tell him. She should just make like Martin and blurt it out-

"You seriously haven't notice we're on high alert here?" he gasped, exasperated. He took a deep breath, ceaseing his pacing, laying both hands flat on the back of the couch.

"There was a med escort meant to come in from the Reef this morning; that Hunter who was injured when Lyse attacked." He seemed to brace himself, as if he was tired of saying it, hated it. "It never arrived. Last transmission'd from mars, but nobody's found anything yet. 'Cept... 'cept debris from almost half a dozen ships re-entering atmosphere. And that's not the worst part..."

"Do... do we even want to know what the worst part is?" Martin gulped audibly.

"Prince Uldren was with them... and the Queen can't sense him."

* * *

 **Boom. I really hoped I did good on this chapter; I was listening to Peter Gabriel's version of "Heroes" almost the entire time writing it!**

 **DoomDragon2: I would appreciate it if you would please refrain from using profane language in my review box. If you do not, please understand I will be forced to block you, there are audiences who read this that probably don't want to see stuff like that. And yeah, I do like to see how we've depleted Calus' supply of robots. Merry Christmas!**

 **alienraptor: I've finished CoO but haven't reached max Light yet, I've found myself with less and less time recently, and I may be playing even less now that's I've finally gotten this chapter out of the way. Merry Christmas!**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Yup! I really hoped you enjoyed this scene! Merry Christmas!**

 **Furious Titaness: Yeah, it's kinda a filler chapter. I've noticed, however, that as I get farther in this fic, I switch PoV's** _way_ **too often. There are too many breaklines, and it's been bothering me, it makes the chapter look 'noisy', so I went into this one with a bit of a different writing style than I normally use when it comes to PoV; I don't even know what's it's called, but I saw it in a big Mass Effect fic, and the writer did a good job with it. I agree with 'quality versus quantity'. Merry Christmas!**

 **I again apologize for the lack of chapters these past few months. That, however, may be about to change; for these chapters leading up to the cure, I just kind of lost my fire. I wanted to write about Rogers and Uldren and the rest of the Reef crew so bad, and I have a character that might actually make it was a main at some point that I wanted to write more about, too. Like with the betrayal of Lyse Ravenwood, I have been gunning for this part of the story for so long, I'm really excited to be here.**

 **But it also takes a sharp turn away from the goals, events, and pacing of everything that's happened since I started Part 2. I kept wondering; 'what the heck are my readers going to think about this?'. So, I've come up with a very simple solution; I'll call this 'Part 3'! It fits, it makes sense, and it makes it clear the pacing is about to change and there's a whole new set of rules to live by. I honestly don't know if I'll label the aftermath of the next dozen or less chapters 'Part 4', but I might, considering that at this point, we're about halfway through the fic. At least, halfway through how long I think the end product is going to be.**

 **That being said, thank you all for sticking with me for the long past year or so. This time last year, I was writing and posting Wolfsbane at a thousand miles per hour, but now I'm sluggishly typing and toiling away at a long adventure that I started, and now have to finish... whether I like it or not, regardless of the fact that I'm just a little bit worn down on it. Now, just because I say that, don't think I'll let this story die; I would NEVER let this story die, as someone who has personal experience of loving a fic that died. I could never do that, It's mean to readers.**

 **Next Time: Uldren finds himself in a difficult situation involving the Fallen, and a struggle to survive the likes of which he's never expirianced ensues...**

 **Cheers!^^**

 **Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!**


	29. Part 3: Out of the Frying Pan

**Quote of the Day:** _ **"Just because you put syrup on something, doesn't make it pancakes." -Shawn Spencer**_

* * *

Uldren's ears still rang, even now.

The sounds of gunfire that rang outside seemed to come in time with every throb that went through his body, every beat of his heart as it struggled to function with so little blood to work with. His eyes were shut as he tried to focus not on the pain, but one the guns firing outside, picking out the differences between Fallen weaponry and the bark of Reef-made guns.

Guns with too few bullets left in them.

One gun had stopped firing long ago, and as much as it agonized him to realize it, he knew the sound of his own hand cannon- or in this case, lack thereof. His thumb stroked the dirty wolf emblem near the grip of the sidearm he'd been left with. Her sidearm.

 _Dammit, Rogers..._ She should have taken every weapon. _Every_ weapon they had at their disposal. They'd come this far, and now she was likely defenseless. Perhaps clinging to her one lonely dagger in a final stand.

The thought spurred him into movement; if he could get this gun to her, to either of them, they might stand a chance. He couldn't rely on the chance and luck that the rescue ships would arrive in time to save him. He knew there was no happy ending for him today. But he could give them a chance... he couldn't lose her...

Not at the end, after everything else. He could _not_ fail again.

He bit back a cry of pain as he tried to stand, slumping back against the wall. He pressed one, shaking cold hand to his blood-soaked midriff. The cloak hadn't done much to stem the bleeding. He could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs to the lookout. He tried to bring the gun to bear on the doorway. The fighting was so close now...

"Sierra..." he called weakly, hopefully. The sounds continued, and the mute did not come into view as a roar shook the building. Uldren swallowed hard, fighting darkness as everything became too incoherent to bear. _Please.. forgive me..._

The Ironwreath's grip in his hand was the last thing he felt as the world slipped away.

* * *

 **69 Days Earlier...**

Uldren shot bolt upright, screaming as he woke. Heaving for breath, soaked in sweat, he searched his abdomen for a blade, to find none. He clutched at his stomach for a few moments more, as the spasm that had likely caused the dream died down. The spasms were rare, but had only started happening after Lyse tried to kill him; apparently, it was a side effect of the severe wound healing too fast for a normal body to take.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, grimacing in frustration. It just figured; the only sleep he'd had in days, and he had to dream about Lyse...

It had been... at least over a week, perhaps two weeks since he'd left the Reef to go after Rogers. It was odd to think so much could happen in so short a time. The Huntress was still recovering, still bound to a hospital bed, and he himself had not slept more than a few hours at a time, his insomnia in full relapse in a way he hadn't experienced since after the Black Garden incident.

To make things worse, he would not get the chance he thought he would to help Rogers for once; she would not be staying at the Reef for her full recovery, but would, today, be given medical transport back to the Last City. The Last City, where she was neither wanted, appreciated, and a place he thought, quite frankly, she may actually hate with the bottom of her heart.

The past few weeks had been weeks for failing people, one person specifically, and no matter how hard he tried to banish the thought, Uldren couldn't help but feel like it was a sign. A sign that he wasn't doing as good a job as he thought he'd been doing when it came to protecting Mara. And in hindsight, it made total sense:

Della Tay had taken her, nearly killed her. It had taken himself, and a pair of Guardians he hated in order to save her.

The Wolves had gotten to her; again, it was Guardians that saved the day.

Hell, he couldn't even protect himself; it was Rogers who fought Lyse in that inferno of a ship after he'd been stabbed, and paid the price, and it was Aur who'd saved his life by healing the wound.

What did that say about him? He was a _failure_ , that's what it said.

Was there anything he could do, any sort of way he could train, any wrong he could right to make himself better? He didn't think so.

And so, with mind weighed down with this mountain despair in his own abilities, Uldren could only help the escort to the City. It was all he could do to see her journey through...

And if he was lucky, if any part of him was worthy of the place he'd earned at the head of the Crows, he might just gather the courage and opportunity to beg her forgiveness.

Forcing himself to get out of bed, Uldren glanced at the clock. It was near enough to morning. There would be no reason for Mara to expect his rest had been cut short again. He slowly applied his armor, making a fuss with the buckles and clips on his cuirass. When he looked in the mirror, he sighed. There really was nothing in the world he could do with his hair at this point, and today, he didn't feel like trying to bother with it at all.

Relenting to his ungroomed appearance, Uldren quietly left his room, and made his own, roundabout way to the royal kitchens. He didn't feel like sitting at a large table this morning, nor did he feel like waiting in the throne room for his and Mara's usual morning meeting. Today, he felt, was not a day for the typical routine.

When he did get to the kitchens, his mouth watered, but his stomach wasn't in it for food. He took a coffee, black and bitter and just the way he liked it, and forced himself to choke down a bread roll. He brought up his wrist interface, and read over the assignments for the escort. A pilot called Barad... he shook his head. _Are they_ asking _for trouble?_

Hammacaran as the accompanying doctor, her assistant, Cor... ah, Revia. All clean records, all would be on the same ship as Rogers. Hamma had a background in the Corsairs, her assistant was rather young, but learning. Nothing need be said for Revia; she'd been one of his most trusted Crows for years,

He'd handpicked the pilots of the other ships that would be in the escort; there was no way he was failing this time. He'd only been able to secure three; he would have brought more, but Mara had denied him, calling him paranoid. Either way, he spent well over an hour reviewing the route they were taking, reading files, re-reading them, and reading them once more before relenting and deciding he would be of more use at the Outpost.

And he made the journey with a sense of dread the likes of which he'd never felt.

He'd never really visited Rogers after the incident-more proof of his cowardice, he supposed-between the chaos spread in Lyse's wake, Mara picking him over and looking at him like he might drop dead at any given second, and the diplomatic fencing that had been initiated with the Last City soon after...

Or maybe, he just didn't want to see the wounds. That ghastly burn on her back, stretching up her neck to a point where the doctors had seen fit to clip her hair short-one of the only details he'd caught in a fleeting glimpse of her all those weeks ago-accompanied, perhaps, by that same dull, lifeless look she'd had after exiting quarantine. He knew if he went anywhere near her he would instantly be sick with himself.

Actually, he was already sick with himself; he had been since it happened. And riding the mag tram wasn't making things any better; it just took him back to the Wolf Rebellion, when, yet again and for what was to be the first of many times, Rogers had not only done his job, saved his life, and nearly been killed in the process. He could still remember how still she'd been...

The halting of the tram snapped him out of his thoughts with a body-jarring jolt. It had taken months to repair this transport... the one where Lyse had been shot, where he and Rogers had initiated their fight against several Wolf stealth fighters. It had been the first time he'd witnessed what she was capable of, and back then, he hadn't known she was mute; he'd just thought her to be the reluctant, quiet type.

Uldren shook his head. _Stop dwelling in the past._ His father would have said if he could see him now(he was certain). _Focus on today._

Today, Rogers needed him. She needed him to get her from point A to point B, while she herself was incapacitated. That much, he could do. That, he could do.

But could he? Could he bring himself to look on her, injured, confined to a bed because a stupid order _he_ had given her, because of a threat that _he_ hadn't recognized... and tell her he was sorry for it all?

For the dark thoughts? For the misplaced assumption that keeping her topside while he figured Lyse out was for everyone's benefit? For the insults he'd thrown at her, for the way he'd spat 'mute' like it was a poisonous insult during their confrontation in the old apple orchards of America's back-lands, for not seeing who she truly was until she'd done battle against the deadliest assassin in the system, a trial he would never have put anyone through?

For sending her off to track down a dangerous Rogue Guardian, without backup?

He forced himself through the crowds. He would just have to see when he got there.

* * *

He hadn't done it.

When he first saw her, being rolled onto the ship by Hamma with Cor in tow, he'd simply frozen. She'd looked every bit as miserable as he'd imagined. She was wounded, heading back to the one of many places she didn't want to be, and, as far as she was concerned, alone in the galaxy, with the sole exception of her Ghost, Padfoot.

Her burns had looked a little better, though it had been hard to tell from the distance he'd been standing. Her hair was still short, and the odd, sad thought had struck him that she'd looked... well, _prettier_ with it long, in an outlandish, roguish-looking messy way; not that beauty had ever seemed to be a concern of hers. Then again, what did _he_ know?

Padfoot had been hovering close over her shoulder the whole time, and Cor was saying something reassuring. To the Prince's surprise, Faroth had been there, thought looking quite worn, being scolded by Hamma, and with his arm in a cast. The horrible burns on his face were still covered with gauze, and he'd heard the man would bear the marks of that day forever.

Just one more person Uldren had failed by not seeing Lyse for what she was, for not taking the hostile Warlock at her word, for instead thinking it was simply attitude that could be snuffed out by a stern message from the Vanguard if need be.

The injured doctor seemed to have been giving medical advice, though not to Cor or Hamma, but the Rogers herself, who had been listening with weary intent. Perhaps they had bonded over their shared injuries.

And Uldren had just... stood there, mouth dry the moment he laid eyes on her, dread and shame, horror and grief all warring inside of him until he couldn't even _look_ at her anymore. He'd turned away, away from those haunting silver-blue pools that supplied her sight, the sight she implemented to make her enemies suffer, the sight that helped her to always hit here target, not matter what.

Not once in the mere months he'd known her had Sierra Rogers 'missed' a shot, or, more often, a thrown knife.

He'd turned away, and retreated into the cockpit. He would make sure this bird reached it's destination himself.

Or, at least, that was what he was telling himself when they came up on Mars, and transponders pinged.

"Sir, we've got... Crow distress signals from the planet's surface. Should we drop out of NLS?" Barad asked. Decisions about NLS had to be made in an instant or they would overshoot the planet.

And he would never, in all the years that came after, be able to shake the great regret that clung to him when memories of his reply came to mind.

"Yes, do it." he said. He messaged the other pilots. "Drop out of NLS; we've got a Crow in distress. Revia, split off and investigate, we'll-"

He never got the chance to finish the sentence as they dropped out of NLS... right into a Fallen detachment. A Ketch and three Skiffs, at least. House of Waters colors.

The first escort fighter was destroyed in seconds.

"Evasive action! Send a message to the Queen!" he ordered, fingers flicking switches and changing displays as he and Barad worked in tandem to try to get the hell out of Dodge(to use the humanism). He was _not_ going to lose Rogers; no Fallen ambush, however cleverly planned, would make a difference-

"This ship isn't meant to force it's way out of anything!" Barad argued. "Prince Uldren, even _you_ can't out-fly that many bullets!"

"Watch me!" he snarled. _Nothing_ was going to stop him-

"Port thrusters offline, we've lost NLS!" Barad announced after more explosions rocked their ship. Pity; he'd seen the perfect window for an NLS escape, too. "Sir, we need to-"

The next explosion overloaded Barad's command console, and it exploded in a fury of sparks and fire. Uldren ducked, covering his face, feeling heat against his armor. Certain that his co-pilot was dead, he instead sent the ship diving towards the surface. If he could land... or if he could lose the Fallen somehow in Mars' rock formations...

The ship shook s he sent it barreling through the atmosphere at highly unsafe speeds.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP HERE!?" Hamma demanded, barging into the cockpit. He didn't acknowledge her, not even as she checked Barad for a pulse.

"Take the other seat! Try to steady us out!" he ordered.

"The command console is gone!" she yelled over the shaking, rattling, tossing of the ship.

"The try to do it manually!" he shouted back through grit teeth. They were coming in too hot, and though the Skiffs had stopped following them, there were two scoutships still giving chase, and the med ship was unarmed(hence the need for an escort).

On his ladar, though, was a potential for hope. He did his best to steer the ship towards the jutting twin rocks. Hamma screamed, demanded if he was insane, and he ignored her. There was no way to pull the ship upright before they hit the ground-his own damn fault, again- but if he could get them between those rocks, the scoutships might crash, or be caught in the resulting crash of the medship. And hopefully, if they survived, the Fallen wouldn't be privy to it.

No; not if they survived. They would survive. Or, at least, Rogers would. He had to make sure of it.

"Make sure e get through!" he demanded as he unfastened his harness and tore out of the cockpit, as the ground and the spires of rock loomed only moments ahead. He ran, ran faster than he ever had, was only able to register the surprised look on Rogers' face, and the look of equal shock combined with fear on Cor's, before he threw himself over the Hunter, and, for the first time, tried to use his powers...

And succeeded.

The next few moments were filled with violence and motion, but not too much pain. There was ice in his blood, and someone had struck him in the head with a jackhammer. He remembered himself and Rogers falling to the floor, and that was what broke his concentration.

Pain shot through his leg as metal crashed and burned around him, but the effort of keeping them alive was already taking him to a darkness far away.

The last thing he remembered was clinging to Rogers as fire tickled his neck, and all awareness left him.

* * *

 **The stakes are high with this one, folks. Sorry about the wait; I thought it would be appropriate to post this on _Fever_ 's anniversary, or rather, the eve of it.**

 **Furious Titaness: Nice! Lucky you, I really want that game! Not sure about the Switch, thought; I've heard some bad things about it's design. Emotional? Oh, you haven't seen nothing yet! Merry Christmas to you as well(Christmas in March, lol)**

 **alienraptor: Yeah, I've heard some things about player population. Everyone is playing fortnight these days for some reason.**

 **First, I want to say I'm sorry, I'm not dead, and I most certainly did NOT give up on this fic!**

 **That being said, this fic is a MASSIVE undertaking that I hadn't even planned on until I started writing _Fever_ 's ending chapters. And even then, is was supposed to be JUST Silverhawk and Martin's backstories; but then, I got Saladin mixed in, and the whole drama the Reef, and Sierra Rogers became a thing, so where before this fic would have been done a long time ago, now it's not even halfway there! This whole universe I've made is just GIGANTIC in proportion, and it's kind of been wearing me thin a bit. Those of you who have been here since the beginning will surely take notice; you probably remember that I used to update at least once a week, twice in the case of _Fever_. Things got done.**

 **Last year, I posted 16 chapters. _Only_ 16\. In 2016 I posted three fics with 39 chapters total, and that's not counting one-shots and _15 Seconds_ ' early chapters. **

**I just kind of need a break; one where I don't have to worry about whether or not my readers think I'm dead or something. SO, I've devised a plan:**

 **I'll take a few months off(from writing in general, it's all wearing me thin)**

 **During the summer, I'll start work on the rest of Part 3**

 **When Part 3 is done or nearly so, I'll begin posting it's chapters over regular update schedule**

 **I know I said I've been looking forwards to Part 3, and I have; for a long time now. But that's mostly because I didn't know what I was going to write until I got there; I know what's going to happen, I know the basic plot, but getting it all onto paper has been a real challenge.**

 **So, I hope you guys don't hate me, I hope to get my writing back up to quality...**

 **And I hope you enjoyed my little cliffhanger!*evil grin***

 **Cheers!^^**


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